Of Mead and Machination
by Em Gris
Summary: It seemed like the only thing Kasha could do right recently was drink, but after a series of drunken escapades lands her deeply entangled in a dark and dangerous web of murder and age old conspiracy, the unlucky Bosmer thief finds herself face to face with death at every turn, and in dire need of reevaluating her drinking habits...
1. Dragons?

"Dragons?" I scoffed, swiping a withering apple from the bowl of fruit on the table and tossing it hand to hand.

"Lose the apple," Delvin advised from across the table, taking a swig from his bottle of mead. "That's been sittin' in that bowl for who knows how long."

"What? I'd like to see a dragon," said Niruin with a dreamy look.

"And I'd like to swim in a lake filled with gold and sapphires," I rolled my eyes. Aside from Niruin, I was the only other wood elf in the Guild. Our shared Bosmer heritage had sparked a quick friendship, cemented by countless jobs throughout the years, but we shared few opinions.

"I'd like to swim in a lake with Sapphire," Delvin japed, earning a couple of laughs from Dirge from his table across the room and a signature glare from Vex who was leaning casually against a stack of crates nearby. Delvin was a comely Breton, older than most of the members of the Thieves Guild, but practical, hardworking, and as honest as a thief could be, though he had a rather debaucherous streak that Vex never failed to complain about. Even so, he was respected by everyone, and his connections to the Dark Brotherhood certainly didn't hurt his reputation either.

"Watch yourself, Delvin," Niruin said with one of his devilish grins. The smile gave him a wicked look that suited a thief, and went well with his pointy chin and golden eyes. "She'll beat you bloody if she catches you talking about her like that."

"This whole dragon business is a load of rubbish anyways. It's just some madman's desperate plea for attention if you ask me," I continued, deciding to heed Delvin's warning about the apple. I inched my chair back and planted my feet comfortably on the corner of the table, ignoring the mutterings of, "People eat here, y'know," from Delvin into his tankard.

"Yeah, well, no one asked you," Niruin replied indignantly.

"I'm sidin' with Kasha on this one," Delvin said leaning forward in his chair and propping his chin up with his right hand. His accent was thicker than usual with alcohol. "Dragons are just a myth; a tale mothers tell their children to scare them into obedience. The day you see a dragon's the day you become Guild Master."

"Hey, it could happen," Niruin said with a lighthearted shrug, leaning back in his chair, stretching his lean, muscular arms that had been developed by hours of daily archery practice.

"Unlikely," I deadpanned.

"Unlikely," the other Bosmer thief agreed. "But not impossible. And that means that the existence of dragons isn't impossible either. I, for one, think the rumors are true."

"You're a damned fool anyway," Delvin grinned.

_Agreed_, I thought with a thin smile, nodding.

"By the gods, Lightfoot," Vekel the Man called out from behind his counter where he was cleaning a glass with a well used cloth with questionable stains. "If you don't get your damned boots off that table this instant I'll make good on my threat to ban you from this tavern."

I doubted that Vekel would actually kick me out of the Ragged Flagon. Like the rest of the Guild, he needed the money too much to drive away business, but I didn't care to anger the bartender. He was admittedly a little gruff when Brynjolf had first recruited me into the Guild a couple years back, but after a month or so and a favor I'd done for his girlfriend and Guild fence, Tonilia, he'd been more than amiable towards me.

_And most importantly, he keeps the mead flowing._

Submissively, I swung my legs off the creaky wooden table, though I made a face at the use of my newest nickname.

_Lightfoot, _I thought with a bitter taste in my mouth.

It was both endearing and mocking, started of course by Niruin a little over a week ago after a mission that had required the two of us to trudge through a lethal maze in some mines near Morthal. In a moment of inadvertent inattention, I had activated a tripwire, launching a swinging mace through the air that had almost taken my head off, and in my haste to avoid being decapitated, had rolled ungracefully right over another pressure plate. Six sharp spears had immediately shot out of nearby outlets on the wall.

"I warned her mere seconds before she tripped the wire: '_Light feet, comrade_', I said, but before I even finished my sentence, down came the swinging mace, and I found myself face to face with near death in the form of half a dozen steel spears jutting out of the wall!" Niruin chuckled, pausing with his usual flair for the dramatic. "I can't imagine what the look on my face was like, but the look on hers was priceless," he said, and the other Guild members guffawed.

Since then, he'd told the tale at least a dozen times, the distance between the spikes and the tip of his nose decreasing with each telling. I had endured the embarrassment, feeling that Niruin deserved to tell the tale after I'd almost killed him with my carelessness, but after the sixth time hearing the story I was ready to cut his tongue out with my own dagger. When I grabbed him by the straps of his cuirass and told him so, he just laughed and made sure I was within earshot the seventh time he told it.

"You know what," I said, standing up abruptly, almost knocking my chair over. "I think I'm gonna go and grab something to drink at the Bee and Barb anyways."

Vekel immediately looked alarmed. "The Bee and Barb? Why? I can assure you they don't allow feet on their tables either, and the mead I sell here is a much better price than what they sell up there."

"Yeah, why?" Niruin chorused. "Besides, I thought those stingy Argonians refused to serve you anything after you shook down the innkeeper for Brynjolf's gold."

"They did, but I made it up to them. I overheard Talen-Jei telling someone that he needed some amethysts for a special wedding band that he wanted to make for Keerava, and I happened to come across some in a sweep job Vex gave me out in Solitude."

"How… generous," Delvin muttered, and I knew he was imagining the gold three flawless amethysts could have raked in for the Guild.

"Talen-Jei's been smitten with Keerava for as long as I've been in Riften," I explained defensively. "I figured it was high time he proposed to her, and now that he has the ring, he says they'll be wed as soon as he can find someone to do a traditional Argonian ceremony."

"You could have at least sold them to 'im," Delvin insisted moodily. "We're the damned Thieves Guild for gods' sake. We don't do _charity_."

"He gave me two hundred septims as thanks."

"For three flawless amethysts? You're jokin' right?"

"Hey, if he's selling me booze again, I consider it a done deal."

"But you could have just come to me," Vekel complained.

_For __more_ _Black-Briar mead? _The thought made my mouth go dry. _No thanks._

"Sorry, Vekel," I said out loud. "As much as I'd love to continue kissing Maven's ass, I'm feeling the need for a bit more variety than the usual, and Talen-Jei makes some pretty exotic concoctions. I especially like his Velvet Lechance mixture. I think he said it's made from blackberries, honey, spiced wine, and a touch of nightshade."

"Ugh. The wine in Skyrim tastes like urine compared to the fine vintages we had in Valenwood," Niruin said with a distasteful crinkle of his nose, though there was a dash of nostalgia in there somewhere. "If that drink killed you, it would be from the wine, not the nightshade."

"Well stick to the mead or go back to Cyrodiil, then."

"Even if I could, I wouldn't even joke about going back to Valenwood. Skyrim's just too much fun," said Niruin, flashing one of his smiles again. "Although at the rate things are going now…"

Niruin's grin faded, and a heavy silence blanketed the lantern lit tavern. The past decade or so had seen a steady decline in the Thieves Guild's influence over Skyrim. Benefactors and gold were becoming increasingly scarce. Most of the recent jobs were mediocre at best and came from Maven Black-Briar who always had something for us to do anyways, and our attempts to readjust our grasp on some of the major cities across Skyrim only seemed to be getting harder with each passing day. Windhelm was proving more difficult to control than we'd previously expected, the guards growing bold with the stirrings of Ulfric Stormcloak and his rebellion, and we were barely clinging to Whiterun by their little fingers. The fear the Thieves Guild had once instilled in Skyrim's population had turned into contempt, and even people in Riften were beginning to sneer at us.

Old Delvin was convinced we were cursed. I always found it strange that he would dismiss the idea of dragons with a flick of his wrist but so easily came to the conclusion that we were inflicted with a curse, but I went with it. Not to say I actually believed it though. In my opinion, curses were just as ridiculous as the notion of dragons, but it was nice to put the blame on something every now and then.

Escaping from the quicksand of my thoughts, I suddenly swung my bow and quiver over my shoulder, the sweeping movement shattering the fog of depression as if it were a sheet of thin ice and snapping everyone out of their own thoughts and the dark, despairing tunnel they were undoubtedly being lead down. Niruin looked up at me from his seat to my left, traces of his smile returning to the corners of his mouth, and Delvin took another large gulp of mead, though his grip around the tankard's handle was a little tighter than usual.

"Okay, I'm leaving," I announced rather unnecessarily. After that suffocating silence, my craving for fresh air was almost as strong as my craving for Talen-Jei's Velvet Lechance.

"Alright. Don't drink too much, Lightfoot," Delvin said. "I might have a job for you tomorrow."

"...Okay," I replied, wetting my lips distastefully.

_That name is catching on far too quickly for my liking, _I thought, and the tart look on my face wasn't missed by Niruin who stifled a chuckle.

I shot him a glare as I strode by, yanking his hood off mirthfully with a bit more force than was necessary.

"Hey!" he protested, and I swiped the last chunk of sweet roll from his plate as he fixed his hood, dancing away playfully before he could grab it back. The Bosmer muttered an insult in our native tongue causing me to respond with a rude gesture before I disappeared through the fake cupboard that connected the Ragged Flagon to the Cistern.

The Cistern had always been vast and cavernous, but today it seemed positively colossal. The space that had been bustling with activity in the past was now destitute and lonely. Mercer Frey, the Guild Master, was pouring over the ledger at the desk in the back as usual, Sapphire was speaking in hushed tones with Rune, and Thrynn's coarse grunts echoed faintly from the training area, but the Cistern was otherwise empty.

I had joined when the Guild was clearly in decline, but I still remembered the days when there wasn't a single lull in the commotion around the Cistern, and the clamor would almost reach the Ragged Flagon and maybe even the Ratway.

Sometimes I liked to think that the Guild members were simply taking a break, but I wasn't really that naïve. That fantasy, along with my usual shameless optimism, were being chiseled away at as the weeks dragged on, and the form the sculptor was creating from them was turning out to be rather dark and twisted. As hard as it was to face, the reality was that most of the Guild members had either quit or gotten themselves thrown into jail, and there simply weren't enough remaining members to keep the Guild afloat.

A sigh escaped my lips, eloping with the rest of my energy. Suddenly I felt utterly drained.

_I could really use a drink or two now, _I thought.

Behind me, Mercer made a frustrated noise at his numbers, evoking a wince as I rushed by. It was well known to every member of the Guild that Mercer was perpetually grumpy and easily angered. I learned the hard way that when he was in one of his moods, it was much better for everyone if he was left to his own devices, and he was most certainly in one of his moods right now.

_Or seven drinks, _I determined, scurrying up the crude ladder that led to the surface with a little more haste.

The evening had settled clear and cold, accompanied by a crispness that only followed after a day of heavy precipitation. I sucked the fresh air into my lungs greedily as I emerged through the small tomb that disguised the entrance to the Cistern, and watched as it steamed out in a delicate cloud as I exhaled.

I paused for a moment in the small graveyard outside the tomb, wrapping my arms around myself as I listened to the tomb automatically grate shut behind me. Despite the insulating leather of the standard issue Thieves Guild armour, I still felt chilly.

_Wine, I_ reminded myself, tucking my auburn hair behind my ears. _Yes, wine._

With the taste of alcohol ghosting on the tip of my tongue and the thought of the liquid burning as it raced down my throat, I pulled my hood over my head, and with habitual silence, made a bee line for the Bee and Barb.

Whatever Delvin said, I planned to get very drunk tonight.


	2. A Friendly Drinking Contest

Hey all,

It's been a long time since I've really written anything, so I'm a bit rusty to say the least. This was originally meant to be part of the first chapter, but it was getting a tad long so I decided to split it into two. Nevertheless, I hope you're liking it so far, and without further ado, I humbly bring you chapter two.

Enjoy!

* * *

I swept the room with a mindful gaze as I entered, pushing the door closed against the cold air trying to shove past me. The tavern was already heated by dozens of mingling bodies escaping from the winter chill. Rich and poor alike, on nights like this everyone always had a little extra gold to spend on mead and it seemed like half of Riften was milling about the Bee and Barb tonight.

"Hey," greeted a familiar voice to my left, and I turned to appraise a familiar mercenary mage nibbling on a half loaf of bread on his usual bench by the door. Marcurio had been a tenant of the Bee and Barb for as long as I had been in Riften, only occasionally disappearing for a couple months when someone hired him to do something. He had adopted that spot on the bench very quickly I'd heard, and protected it as if it was his own child, so I wasn't surprised to see him there.

"Hey, Marcurio," I said.

"Here to warm up with a drink?" the feisty Imperial asked.

"What else?" I replied, lowering my hood again now that I was indoors.

"Tough day?"

"You have no idea."

Marcurio chuckled good-naturedly. "Then I'll let you get that drink. If you need the company, you know where to find me."

"Thanks," I smiled, grateful that he understood. The mercenary was young, fit, and good looking, and I had admittedly flirted with him on multiple accounts, but today was not one of those days. "I'll catch up with you another time."

As I weaved through the crowd towards the bar, I made note of many of the regulars. Among them was Maven chatting to a stuffy noble; Indaryn, one of Maven's faithful employees; Vulwulf Snow-Shod drinking away the death of his daughter; and Mjoll the Lioness who was curiously without her Imperial companion, Aerin, for once. Mjoll was well known across Riften for her hatred of the Thieves Guild so I made sure to give her a wide berth.

Talen-Jei was whispering lovingly in Keerava's ear behind the bar when I approached and sat on one of the vacant stools. Almost immediately their smiles hardened, and I couldn't exactly blame them after I had extorted them. Business was business, but there were bound to be some hard feelings after resorting to threatening someone's family.

"Not here to blackmail us again, I hope?" Talen-Jei said, trying poorly to joke with me. I think it was a joke anyway.

"Not today," I replied dryly, uncertain if it was a good thing or not that the green Argonian could jest about the situation now. At least he wasn't chasing me out of the inn with a broom anymore. That had been an amusing tale to tell, but it hadn't really ended well for either of us.

"In that case, what can I do for you?" he asked in his raspy voice, easing into a slightly more casual tone, though Keerava pointedly gave me the cold shoulder.

I grimaced at Keerava's silent treatment, feeling irrationally hurt. _I guess I deserve that, _I thought, though I knew it shouldn't bother me.

"Got anymore of your Velvet Lechance?" I asked, shaking off the feeling and leaning forward over the counter. Keerava didn't have a mean bone in her body so eventually I would wear her down. In the mean time, it was time to drink.

The Argonian grinned toothily. "Been getting lots of orders of that tonight. The next batch is almost done brewing, so it'll just be a moment."

As Talen-Jei nimbly flitted away to what was probably a store room, another voice called for my attention.

"Velvet Lechance, huh?" said the man beside me. "Fancy drink."

I turned on my stool to see a skinny Breton in a flowing black robe that clearly indicated some sort of mage. He had shoulder length brown hair, and wide eyes sunken into a plain, beardless face.

"And you are?" I raised an eyebrow.

"The name's Sam," he said, extending a large hand.

I studied him for a moment, trying to get a decent read on the man. His cheeks were glowing with alcohol, his thin lips were stretched in a jovial grin, and if he recognized my Thieves Guild armour (which less and less people were being able to do these days) he gave no sign of it. He was, I determined, perhaps the most ordinary man I had ever laid eyes on.

"Kashyra," I said, shaking his outstretched hand daintily after a few seconds. "But everyone just calls me Kasha."

_Or more recently, Lightfoot,_ I thought, though I left that part out.

"Here's your drink," said Talen-Jei, and I murmured my thanks, paying the appropriate amount of gold.

"So... Sam. Are you a traveler?" I asked, groping for something to talk about. "I haven't seen you around here before."

"I suppose you can call me that," he said, words slurring slightly. "I've been here for a little over a week. Seen you come in around here a couple of times, though I guess I blend in pretty well since you didn't notice me."

Slightly embarrassed, I said nothing, taking a large gulp from my tankard instead and wiping my mouth with my sleeve as I set it back down.

"Say," he said, watching me with his dark, sunken eyes. "You look like you can hold your liquor. Care for a friendly drinking contest? If you win, I'll give you this real nice staff I found."

I laughed. "If you're looking for a challenge, you've come to the wrong elf," I said. "I'm afraid I couldn't hold my liquor if someone was paying me a hundred gold pieces to. And yes, that's from experience."

"Well, I've already had a few bottles," he insisted, laughing too. "Besides what's the worst that can happen? Seems to me that you were planning to get pretty drunk anyways. I'll even provide the drinks. I've got this special brew – very strong stuff. A few shots could knock a person out so I guarantee it won't take much of your time."

"Let me get this straight," I interrupted, eyes gleaming at the prospect. "If I win, I get this staff you're offering?"

"Correct."

"So what do you get if you win?"

"The satisfaction of drinking yet another challenger under the table," he grinned. "In other words, nothing. It's a friendly drinking challenge and I'm the only one here who stands to lose anything here! What do you say?"

I thought for a moment. _Is there a downside to this? Free drinks, and I could potentially win a staff from this. I can get good money for a staff..._

"Alright then, good sir," I said, downing the rest of my Velvet Lechance. "You have convinced me. I accept your challenge."

"Good, good!" he grinned and proceeded to pull out two small bottles from one of the pouches at his hip, handing one to me.

The bottle was only slightly bigger than my fist, an opaque blue in color and unlabeled. I uncorked it, suddenly feeling a little more doubtful about drinking a strange concoction from a perfect stranger. I sniffed at the contents cautiously, and immediately recoiled from the strength of the stench.

"By the Eight!" I exclaimed. "What's in this thing?"

"I told you," he laughed again. "A few shots of this could knock a person out. But don't worry, it's perfectly safe. Here, I'll show you." He took a sip from his bottle, and then, still seeing the mistrustful look in my eye, took a sip from mine as well. "See?" he said, face contorting at the taste. "Strong, but perfectly" – cough – "safe."

I took the bottle back tentatively, feeling a little better that the drink wasn't poisoned at least, though not entirely convinced of its safety. Nevertheless...

"Okay, let's do this," I said while I still felt brave from the Velvet Lechance.

"Great! I'll go first," said Sam. I watched as he tilted back his head and downed the tiny bottle, exhaling heavily has he set it down on the table. "One down. Your turn."

I stared at the bottle again, mentally preparing myself.

_Well, I did want to get drunk tonight. Here goes._

"Bottom's up," I said, and drank.

As soon as the liquid made contact with my throat, I almost coughed it right back up. It was bittersweet at first and tasted kind of like how I'd imagine roses to taste. Only these roses seemed to be mixed with firesalts and alcohol and burned my throat like no other drink I'd had before. By the time the bottle was on the table, the tavern was already tilting.

"Wow, that... hits fast," I blinked, trying to shake my head clear.

"Tell me about it," he slurred. "One down for both of us."

Another bottle appeared in my hand. I hadn't even seen Sam take it out of his bag.

"Number two," said Sam. "Together?"

"Together," I agreed. We uncorked our bottles, clanked them cheerfully, and downed our second round.

The tavern was almost spinning now.

"Shit," Sam said. "You were lyin' when you said you couldn' hold yer liquor. To be honest, most people're out after the firsht bottle. I think I've hit my limit wif these things. Tell you what, one more and you win tha contest."

"One more?" I repeated, reeling. "No... no problemsh."

Another bottle was in my hand, and I had to try a few times to remove the cork this time.

_This is a terrible idea, _said a faint voice in my head somewhere, but I pushed it aside.

_No, this is a great idea. I'm getting drunk for free, and I'll get a staff out of this if this guy is true to his word._

I finally managed to pull the cork out, spilling a little of the bottle's contents onto the floor in the process, but neither of us seemed to care or notice.

"Here goes everything," I said, and chugged the liquor within a few seconds, my tongue and brain numb to all its sensations now.

"Wow, you've really done it," Sam said. Did he seem less drunk than before, or was that just my imagination? "The staff is yours."

I heard myself mutter something incoherent in triumph, earning another laugh from Sam. He seemed to laugh a lot, I noted through the fogginess of the alcohol.

"You know," he continued. "You're a lot of fun to drink with. I know this great little place where the wine flows like water, and I've been trying to find someone to go with me. We should head there."

"Uggh," I said in response, resting my head on the counter.

_Okay, you were right. This was a terrible, terrible idea, _I told the other voice in my head, but it's voice had drowned in the liquor.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sam said, placing a concerned hand on her shoulder. "You don't look too good."

"I'm... fi– I'm okay..." I managed to get out. In the history of all my drinking adventures, I don't think I'd ever gotten as drunk as fast as this before. "I just... need to rest my head... too much to dri..."

Everything suddenly felt extremely heavy. My arms, my head, my tongue, my eyelids...

_Terrible, terrible idea, _I repeated to myself, darkness encroaching on my vision.

_Terrible..._

_idea..._


	3. The Hangover

A vicious pain seared through my head, pulsing and pounding me into a dim excuse for consciousness.

"Wake up," said a harsh voice. It sounded distant, like someone was trying to speak to me from miles away.

Someone groaned miserably, and only after listening to the voice for a moment did I recognize it as my own.

"That's right, it's time to wake up you drunken blasphemer."

_Blasphemer...?_

Slowly I managed to force my eyelids open, trying to blink away the bleariness of my vision. I could tell the room we were in was dim, but every light source seemed like a sun to my throbbing head. My cheek was pressed against something cool and hard, and after a few seconds, I realized I was sprawled rather unceremoniously on the floor, which explained the crick in my neck, and the ache in my spine. It took almost all my strength to push myself into a seated position.

"Unh, my head," I said. After the enormous effort it had taken to sit up, my head now felt like someone was trying to slice through my skull with a dull butter knife (it could very well be that the speaker was actually doing that, judging from its incredibly displeased tone), and I had to rest my head in my hands again.

"Yes, your head hurts and you don't remember where you are," the voice drawled, sounding exasperated. "I'm guessing you probably don't remember coming in here and blathering incoherently about marriage or a goat. Which means you don't remember coming in here and throwing trash all over the temple either."

I could barely hear the voice over the blood rushing in my ears, but after a few deep breaths, I finally managed to dull the pain in my head enough to look up and take in my surroundings.

A short, angry woman in a hooded yellow robe stood in front of me with her hands placed firmly on her hips. An irate scowl marred her otherwise pleasant and motherly features that instilled a deep sense of shame in me, though I honestly had no recollection of why.

We were indeed in some sort of temple. It was made almost entirely of stone, lit only by four braziers that surrounded a large, round enclosure of water at the center of the room, and a couple candles that cast long, flickering shadows on the walls. Stuff was strewn everywhere: bowls and plates and cutlery had been knocked off the tables; food and brown sacks littered the floor; a couple of bottles lay awkwardly around the room; and one of the red banners lining the walls had been torn down as well and curled dejectedly in a corner.

The place was a mess, and if I had judged the woman's character correctly, she had probably already cleaned up quite a bit of it before I had awoken.

"Gods," I breathed. "Did I do this? I am so, so sorry. I don't even remember how I got here."

"Oh, I'd love to help you figure it out," the woman answered bitterly. "But I'm just so busy cleaning up the mess you made of our temple."

"Listen, I'm sorry," I apologized again, staggering to my feet. I wasn't even sure why I felt so guilty. I had done far worse in my time in Skyrim than wreck a temple. "I'm not usually like this, I swear. Could you please tell me where I am? And... and..." Flashes of some night that seemed like ages ago began to reappear in my mind. "Was there a guy named Sam with me?"

"Dibella teaches love and compassion," the priestess softened a bit, answering my first question with disguised sympathy. "But that doesn't mean we're going to just tell you what you want to know and let you walk away from this."

_The Temple of Dibella? _I reeled, the weight of what I'd just heard making my knees feel weak again. _I traveled all the way across Skyrim to _Markarth_? Dear gods, the Guild is going to murder me._

"If you were to tidy up your mess and apologize again afterwards, however," the woman continued. "Then I might be able to help you."

With that, the priestess turned smartly on her heel, making it clear that our conversation was over for the moment.

Releasing a breath I didn't realize I was holding, I slumped against a nearby wall, trying to keep myself from freaking out as I racked my memory for anything that had occurred from the last drink I'd had with Sam at the Bee and Barb to the present. Any sights, any scenes, any clips of conversation – _anything_ – but I came up empty handed. With nothing but a big, gaping hole in my memory, I began to feel panic building in my chest like a flock of a hundred terrified crows until I felt I was going to retch.

_Sam._

Oh, how could I have been so stupid? I didn't even have that staff he promised me.

_Of course you don't, dumbass, _I kicked myself mentally. _You take booze from a total stranger and expect him to give you a staff after you've drunk to the point where you don't even remember anything? Of course you don't have his goddamn staff._

I pinched the bridge of my noise, appalled by my stupidity and the situation I had landed myself in.

_Okay, Kashyra, _I thought, trying to organize myself. _One step at a time. Help clean up this temple while you get over this wicked hangover, and then you can find out where Sam went so you can kick his ass to Oblivion and back. Okay._

Refueled a bit by my newfound determination, I pushed myself off the wall, and proceeded to tidy up the mess I had created.

The clean up took longer than I expected, probably because every time I bent down to pick something up, I experienced a rush of dizziness and had to wait until the vertigo passed. Even with some help from the priestess (who, I had learned after lots of polite prodding, was named Senna) when she thought I wasn't looking, by the time the temple looked half decent, at least an hour and a half must have passed.

"Hey, Senna," I said meekly when we were finished, approaching the shorter woman who was sitting on a chair slowly as if she were a cave bear. "I am _really_ sorry for trashing your temple. I truly don't even remember leaving the tavern I was at, never mind coming in here. Please, I've cleaned up my mess, and I really need to know what happened to me now."

"Well," Senna said, still feigning irritation, but by her tone, I figured the woman had finally forgiven me. "You were deep in your cups when you got here."

"I was _still_ drinking when I got here?"

"Yes. You were drinking with your friend Sam and ranting, though most of it was slurred. You did say something about Rorikstead though."

"Rorikstead," I repeated drily, my nose crinkling with distaste at the thought of having to travel all the way to that small excuse for a town.

"Yes."

"Divines help me," I muttered, looking up at the ceiling briefly as if they would actually be there to answer my prayer before returning my gaze to Senna who was standing up and making her way towards a table near the back of the room. "Are you sure you didn't hear anything else? I mean, I know you said I was also raving about a marriage and a goat, but that doesn't make any sense to me. Animals are supposed to like Bosmer, but goats absolutely hate me."

"I think I recall you saying it was a nice goat," she said with a smirk.

"Hate. Me," I enunciated, unsure if she was serious or not.

"I'm sorry," Senna said. "But that's really all I know. Here's your bow, quiver and dagger. I removed them while you were unconscious so you wouldn't accidentally hurt yourself."

"Um, thanks," I said. "I appreciate it. So you really don't know anything else?"

"No."

My shoulders slumped a bit at the lack of information, but I accepted my weapons back gratefully. "Okay," I resigned. "Well, thanks. And I truly am sorry about trashing your temple."

"It's alright," said the kindly priestess, escorting me to the door by the elbow. "I've already forgiven you, and I'm sure Lady Dibella has too. Good luck finding your friend."

After another round of hasty farewells, the temple doors shut behind me. As compassionate as Dibella taught her disciples to be, I was sure that Senna was just as glad to have me out of her hair as I was to have finally set foot outside, even if it was on Markarth soil. ...Rock. Whatever.

I'd always hated Markarth. Compared to this place, Riften was as docile as a bunny. I hated the smoky, miner smell of this place, and its towering rock walls, but most of all, I hated the people. In Markarth you were either well off, in which case you were pretentious and haughty, or you were dirt poor, in which case you were still pretentious and haughty. And no one was worse than the Silver-Bloods. The Silver-Blood family practically ran Markarth, and their name suggested exactly what they did business in: blood and silver. They were the Maven Black-Briars of Markarth but worse, however impossible that seemed.

I snapped out of my ruminations, realizing that I had reached the end of the countless stairs that led from the Temple of Dibella to the marketplace, which one unfortunately had to cross to leave or enter this damnable city. It was as dingy as the last time I'd come with vendors in shabby stalls selling their wares, offering everything from raw meat to jewelry. I had to cringe at the place.

"Please," a drunken voice drawled, just the sound of his slurred words making my hangover return briefly. "Just a septim or two."

I located the commotion quickly to see a beggar clinging pitifully to the green cloth of a guard's uniform.

"Get lost, filthy beggar," the guard sneered, kicking the man away. The harsh nudge toppled the drunk easily, and the man flailed on his back helplessly, resembling an upside down mudcrab. The guard gave him an extra kick in the ribs for good measure, causing the beggar to whimper and curl up into a protective fetal position.

As if sensing my gaze, the guard looked up, catching my eye. I could practically feel his eyes narrow as he examined me, and he stepped over the beaten vagrant towards me.

_Shit_, I thought, averting my eyes quickly, unsure if I still had a small bounty in the Reach or not. I turned away, my half hungover mind telling me to pull my hood up though what good it would do me since he'd already seen my face, I didn't know.

I grimaced as a strong hand planted itself on my shoulder and spun me around, the quick whirling motion causing my hood to fall off again anyways.

"Can I help you, uh, sir?" I asked, offering my most sincere smile, cursing the uselessness of my hood in my mind. I never knew how Niruin managed to keep his on his head at all times.

"You look familiar," said the guard, grip tightening painfully on my shoulder.

I gave a nervous laugh. "I think you're mistaken," I said as I ducked out from his grip, but he simply snagged my wrist instead, preventing me from turning away. I stiffened immediately, my free hand instinctively flying to where I kept my dagger concealed, though in as public a space as I was, I wasn't sure what I would do with it.

"No, there's no mistake," he said, pulling me closer so I could feel and smell his hot breath through the slits of his helmet, and see his cold Nordic eyes studying me closely through the eye holes. I tried in vain to jerk my wrist free again, but he had a vice grip on it. "We don't get many wood elves around here. Especially none in your particular... attire."

I almost groaned. Of all the times for someone to recognize my armour...

"My attire?" I repeated, sounding appropriately offended. "What's that supposed to mean? This is just regular leather –"

"Don't play me the fool, elf," the guard interrupted menacingly, and I tried my best to shrink away. "I know your kind, and you're not going to pull the hood over my eyes."

I bit my lip as he tightened his grip on my wrist even more, and my eyes flickered to the steel sword belted to his hip, my fingers twitching near my concealed dagger. At any other time I might have surrendered meekly or paid off the guard, but I had no gold, and I certainly wasn't going to jail after waking up on the other side of Skyrim with a pounding hangover, and most certainly not in Markarth of all places.

"Funny you should mention hoods 'cause –"

Wherever that line of thought was taking me was cut off as a blood curdling shrieked echoed through the marketplace. I would say the interruption was for the better, but a terrified shriek rarely improves any situation. Immediately, my captor twisted around, allowing me to see the scene that had unfolded just ten meters away.

There was a half-second lull in the compass as everyone turned, staring in disbelief at a man dressed in ragged miner's garb, one hand tangled into a woman's mousy hair, and the other wielding a blade buried into her back, the tip emerging from her stomach painted red with her blood. No one seemed to know what to do.

"The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!" the man cried out triumphantly, his voice severing the delicate thread that had held everyone in place.

And then it was chaos. People screamed and fled from the epicenter of the uproar, someone knocking roughly into me in their haste to escape the area. Temporarily forgotten, the guard released his hold on my wrist and drew his sword, charging after the murderer with a battle cry, but with a cruel twist of the blade, the assailant pulled his dagger out of his victim's side and, hand still clutching the woman's hair, flung her body at the oncoming soldier. I could see the blood spurt from her wound as the guard caught her and knew it was fatal. If she wasn't dead yet, she would be soon.

I felt the need to retch again and told myself it was just from the hangover, swallowing drily. This was not the time or the place to show such weakness.

However, shocked, I realized in a quick rehearsed motion I had already drawn my bow and nocked an arrow, prepared to shoot.

_Stupid, stupid, what are you doing? _I thought even as I exhaled, focusing my sights on my target. _You should be using this opportunity to get out of here, not helping the guards that were about to arrest you._

Nevertheless, my body continued to defy my mind, and I let my arrow fly, listening to the satisfying _twang!_ as I released the string. Niruin had taught me how to shoot with a hangover (unwittingly of course; if he knew I'd been drinking heavily the night before, he would never have let me within ten meters of my bow), a skill I never thought I'd have to use outside our training area, but I sent a silent thank you to him as my arrow hit its mark.

The man screamed as my arrow pierced right through his calf, and he collapsed hard on his knee at the foot of the stairs he was about to escape up. In a matter of seconds, three guards were on him, wrenching his bloody weapon away.

I watched, breathing heavily with the adrenaline in my veins as two of the guards each grabbed an arm of the murderer as the third guard – the guard who had approached me – kneeled and began to pat the man down.

"Nothing," the guard muttered, standing.

"B-bastard," said miner through teeth gritted in pain.

"Yeah?" the guard asked dangerously, and without waiting for any further response brought his sword down in a merciless arc, the blade meeting the point where the man's neck joined his shoulder and cleaving clean through his clavicle and undoubtedly the artery in that area. The other two guards released him as blood sprayed them, and he fell to the ground, eyes wide and mouth gargling on his life fluids as he writhed on the floor, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood with his hands.

The three of them stared at his twisted body allowing him to suffer for a few moments longer before the guard who had dealt the blow finally decided to have mercy and shoved his blade through the dying man's neck, keeping it there until the man's twitching stopped.

I froze, lowering my bow in stunned silence at the cold-blooded execution.

"By the Divines, the Forsworn are here in the city," a terrified voice breathed next to me.

The guards glanced up, suddenly aware of the crowd that had gathered.

"Everyone stay back," said the guard, sheathing his blade without wiping off the blood. "The Markarth city guard have got this under control. There are no Forsworn here."

"He killed Margret," an old Redguard woman sobbed, emerging from her hiding place behind her jewelry stand. "Why?"

"Clear the area," I heard the guard say, and with my wits finally about me again, I remembered that leaving before the guards remembered my presence was the ideal time to flee a scene, not after.

I whirled around again towards the exit, but much to my dismay was hindered once more as I instantly bumped into something sturdy, knocking me to the ground. I whimpered slightly, glad at least that I didn't have my bow slung over my shoulder then or I might have broken it.

"I'm so sorry," said the man I had run into, offering a callused hand to help me up. He was a Breton and had shoulder length red hair that reminded my vaguely of Brynjolf, and the most intricate design I'd ever seen painted on his face.

"It's okay," I said, wincing and rubbing my tailbone where I'd fallen. That was definitely going to bruise.

I flashed a quick glance over my shoulder at the guards, but they were still busy with the two bodies, and the man followed my eyes.

"A woman attacked on the streets in broad daylight," he tsked, misinterpreting my gaze.

"Yeah, um, definitely wasn't expecting that to happen," I said, trying to sound respectful, but it was hard when I was worried that that guard might remember me at any second.

"Did you see what happened?"

_Yeah, I shot the guy, _I thought sourly.

"Nope. Uh, listen," I said distractedly. "I have to go –"

"No, wait!" he said, grabbing my arm as I tried to brush by him. My fists clenched and I turned my head to face him, eyes narrowed to slits, ready to snap.

"Look here, buddy, I've had _enough_ of being manhandled toda –" I met his eyes and stopped short, our faces mere inches apart.

"I think you dropped this," he said meaningful, his pleading eyes never allowing me to look away. "Some sort of note. It looks important."

"But..."

Suddenly and acutely aware of our proximity, he let go of my arm gently and backed away. "I should go," he said, leaving me standing there, completely in a daze as he disappeared into the crowd.

_I cannot handle this shit with a hangover,_ I thought, feeling my headache return as I slipped around a corner and out of the view of the guards. I took a few calming breaths and waited for the headache to fade before opening the note the mysterious man had given me.

_Meet me at the Shrine of Talos, _it said in simple, hurriedly scrawled letters.

"Oh no. Absolutely not," I said, as if saying it out loud would convince me otherwise. "There is no way I am going to get involved in this."

But the longer I stared at the note, the more I couldn't get the thought of the man with his odd warpaint and deep brown eyes out of my head.

I sighed deeply, massaging my temples at the decision I had already made.

_I must still be drunk, _I concluded, pocketing the note. _Because I am clearly not thinking straight._

Sam and Rorikstead would have to wait for now...


	4. The Thief with a Conscience

In truth, I didn't have to worry about the guards as much as I thought I did. They were too busy covering up the incident that had just occurred to look for a lowly Bosmer who probably had no more than a 40 gold bounty. For some reason, they were going to great lengths to cover that the murderer was a Forsworn agent. To their credit, they had successfully managed to convince people – or have people say they were convinced – that the miner was just a raving lunatic, but they hadn't convinced me, and they definitely hadn't convinced the man who'd slipped me the note either. I know what I heard, and as a thief, I trusted nothing more than my own senses.

By the time I deemed it appropriate to make my why to the Shrine of Talos, the sun was already setting in the sky. I must have left the Temple of Dibella much later in the day than I'd previously thought. Not that I was complaining of course. If there was any time of day to do some good sneaking it was when the shadows were longest, and after the effort the man had gone through to get me that note, I figured I'd return the gesture with equal caution.

"You came," the man said as I opened the door to the shrine, rushing to greet me. "I knew you'd come," he claimed, but the relief in his voice said otherwise.

I remained silent, making sure the door was closed behind us. I had to wait a few moments for my eyes to adjust before following the man to the center of the building where a formidable shrine to Talos with his mighty war hammer was brightly illuminated. The shadows cast by the fire at his feet flickered and danced across his stony mail.

Having lived in Skyrim for most of my life, I knew the legend of Tiber Septim, who was known as Heir to the Seat of Sundered Kings, Ysmir, the Dragon of the North, and Dragonborn; he who had conquered all of Tamriel and ushered in the Third Era as well as the Third Empire, and ascended to godhood as the Ninth Divine.

A sense of unanticipated awkwardness crept up on me as I encroached on his territory. Like much of Skyrim, I had stopped worshipping Talos after the Empire had agreed to the White-Gold Concordat, more for the safety of my own hide than anything else. I wasn't going to risk my life with the Thalmor stamping out Talos worship as if it was a tumour in Tamriel's side, however cowardly the Stormcloaks would call me.

"I'm glad you're here. My name is Eltrys," the Breton said, his back turned away from the candles so that his face was shrouded in shadows. I kept my features carefully blank as he paused, probably waiting for me to tell him my name as well, but I wasn't ready to divulge any information quite yet.

"Please," he continued when he realized he wasn't getting anything else from me for the moment, and even through the shadows I could see his soft brown eyes pleading with me again. I cursed my conscience silently, wishing the room was a little darker. "I'm sorry to drag you into Markarth's problems, but after that attack in the market, I'm running out of time, and I really need help."

There was an extended second of silence before I finally spoke.

"Why me?" I asked, a simple question to begin with.

"Because you're an outsider, and because I saw what you did with that bow," said Eltrys quickly, folding his arms over his broad chest and leaning against a nearby pillar. I was faintly surprised. I hadn't exactly been hiding, but I hadn't thought my arrow had been noticed by anyone in the crowd either, with their eyes glued to the murderer and the guards. "I've been stuck neck-deep in this mess for far too long. The guards are wary of where I stick my nose now, but I think you have the skills to help me. I just have this... feeling."

_This feeling? _I quirked an eyebrow.

"I'm not exactly on the good side of the city guard either," I said, rubbing my wrist at the memory.

"Whatever you've done, you're still better in their books than I am," he said with a humourless laugh. "Trust me on that, friend."

"No," I interjected immediately, irrationally irritated at the the familiar tone he had suddenly switched to. All at once, I felt all the stress of the day, from my killer hangover, to discovering my alcohol induced amnesia, to almost getting arrested, to witnessing a murder, and finally to being here instead of Rorikstead, well up inside me.

Eltrys looked taken aback. "I-I'm sorry?" he stammered. "But, please listen to me-"

"No, you listen to _me_," I repeated more firmly, fists clenching as my frustration began to flow over. "I am _not _your friend. You see, I _don't_ trust you. I don't trust you, I don't trust the guards – I don't even trust the ground I set my feet on in this gods forsaken city." My arms flailed wildly in angry gestures, and my vision flashed red, but Eltrys seemed to sense that none of my anger was directed at him. I was the only one to blame for where I stood now. My throat tightened at my shame, and the volume of my voice rose to keep it from cracking.

"I should be half way to Rorikstead by now instead of talking to you," I pointed at him accusingly, ranting at this point. "You and your honeyed words and pleading eyes. Instead, I'm still in this damnable city, and the worst part is not that I can't leave, it's that, for some unfathomable reason, I _won't._ So stop making me pry for answers, and say what you want to say so I can make up my mind and put this place far behind me."

My voice echoed in the stone building in the silence that followed and we froze, staring at each other as it hit us simultaneously just how much the days' events had shaken me, though Eltrys couldn't possibly be aware of the majority of it. I half turned away with new appreciation of the word mortified, wrapping my lean arms around me in embarrassment at my outburst. Not even some of the Guild members had seen me as wired as this.

_What's wrong with me?_ I thought as the uncomfortable silence enveloped us. _I can't get wrapped up in this. I have to go back to Riften._

I jumped as his hand found my shoulder, and he faltered as if dealing with a wounded animal. I felt sorry that I had just taken out my frustration on him, but I was not one to be treated with pity, and I almost punched him for it.

"This all started when I was a boy," Eltrys began again quietly and cautiously, resuming his previous position against the pillar. "My father owned one of the mines, a rare feat for anyone who isn't a Nord. Did a good job of running it too. And then he was killed. Gone from my life forever, just like that. The guards said it was just a madmad, but everyone knew the murderer was a member of the Forsworn."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I said nothing.

"I continued my investigations, but nothing but body after bloody body turned up," Eltrys shrugged, and a faint smile lit up his face better than any candle ever could. "And then I got married to a beautiful woman, and it was the happiest day of my life. Have a child of my own on the way."

_Oh gods, no, don't do this to me. _If there was anything that was hard to turn down, it was someone who cared for his family.

"I swore I was going to just give this up, for my child's sake, but I can't. Every time I try to let it go, it's like my father's ghost is haunting me. Asking me 'Why? Why, Eltrys?'

"He wants answers, you want answers, I want answers..." Eltrys continued, smile dropping as his voice took on a harder edge. "Well, so does everyone else in this city. A man goes crazy in the market today. Everyone knows he's a Forsworn agent, and the guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess, exactly the same as when my father was murdered."

I could see where this had been going from the outset, and I stared at him in dismay, already knowing that I wouldn't be able to refuse his request. "You want me to find out why." A statement, not a question.

"This has been going on for years, and all I've been able to find is murder and blood," he said passionately. "I really need your help."

"You realize that you're asking me to risk my life so you don't have to?" I growled half-heartedly.

"Look." I could tell he was getting desperate now. "You said you didn't trust me, and that's fine. I don't need you to trust me. I realize this is dangerous work, and I don't need you to be doing me any favors. If you do this, I'll pay you, and I'll pay you handsomely."

If I was a Khajiit, my ears would have perked up. I remained silent, but I couldn't help the twinkle in my eyes that shone in the flickering candle light at the prospect of gold.

"Please. You find out why that woman was attacked and who's behind Weylin and the Forsworn, and I'll pay you for any information you bring me."

"Who's Weylin?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"He was the murderer. One of the smelt workers down in the Warrens, if I remember correctly. Used to have a job down there myself, casting silver ingots."

"And the woman?"

"Her name was Margret. An outsider like yourself staying at the Silver-Blood Inn." There was another brief pause. "...Does this mean you'll help me?"

I mulled it over for a few moments, feeling the sudden elation in my mood. If there was gold in this, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all. All he was really asking me to do was gather information on two measly people. I was a thief; I did sneaky stuff like this for a living, except this time instead of swiping some jewels from a house, he was asking me to swipe evidence.

"How much gold are we talking about here?" I said in response. I could feel my posture straighten, and a familiar smirk returned to the corners of my lips, finally finding its way home after being lost in the void between the night at the Bee and Bard to the present.

"Enough to make it worth your while and more," he answered vaguely, cocking his head in confusion at my new attitude, though he kept his questions to himself.

This _is who I am,_ I thought, feeling the ground stabilize under my feet for the first time since I took that bottle from Sam at the Bee and Barb. The Silver-Bloods dealt in blood and silver, but I dealt in shadows and secrecy. I wasn't some meek milk-drinker who panicked after witnessing a murder by some crazed Breton bandit. I was a thief, and a damn good one too. If it was information my new client wanted, it was information he was going to get, even if he was unaware of who he had just hired.

_And maybe the Guild will be quicker to forgive me if I come back with pockets full of gold_.

I knew that accepting his offer at this point would probably make me come across as a greedy, exploitative bitch of an elf, but there was no denying my nature. Riches called to me like Sovngarde called to the souls of dead Nords.

I nodded my consent.

"Great!" he exclaimed. He looked as if he were about to clasp my hands in gratitude, but he quickly caught himself, and ran his hands through his hair instead. He suddenly seemed to remember something and excitedly began to search his pockets. "It's probably getting dark right about now, so as part of you payment I can pay for your stay at the Silver-Blood Inn tonight. While you stay there, you can probably ask around about Margret too. The inn keeper should..."

He trailed off when he noticed I was shaking my head.

"It's okay, you can give me the money for that when I bring you some evidence. I do my best 'sleuthing_'_ at night," I grinned, wondering if he'd catch my drift, but my implications at my line of work just flew over his head. Despite all the day's events, I wasn't feeling tired in the slightest, probably due to my sleeping through the afternoon and the knowledge that the Thief constellation would be bright in the sky.

"You're going to start now?" He looked at me in disbelief.

"Aye," I said. "The sooner this is over the better. For both of us."

He appraised me for a moment, his eyes studying my angular elvish face for something, and I shifted under his scrutiny. Having your features memorized by someone was not generally something a thief let you do.

"Truer words have never been spoken," he finally said again. "In that case, I'll stay here. It would seem suspicious if you reported to my house and well..."

It wasn't hard to discern where he was coming from. He had a pregnant wife at home, and, if the Markarth city guard was truly as against this investigation as I had been lead to believe, then reporting to Etrys's home would not only be dangerous for us, but for his loved ones too.

"Understood," I said, making to leave, but stopped as the Breton started to speak again.

"Wait, um..." Eltrys hesitated, and I realized I still hadn't given him my name.

"Kasha," I offered.

"Kasha. Before you go, please take this anyways." He withdrew his hand from his pocket and threw something my way, but I couldn't distinguish what it was through the darkness. "Think of it as a down payment."

My heart raced at the lyrical chiming of septims as I deftly caught the silhouette of a coin bag. It seemed like an era ago since the last time I'd listened to the jingle of coins, and if there was ever a more beautiful noise, I'd never heard it. I nodded my gratitude at the Breton, shaking the cloth purse one more time for good luck as I slipped it into one of my pockets, beaming at the comfort of the added weight.

I turned towards the door, tucking my auburn hair behind my pointed ears and pulling my hood up low over my head so that my golden eyes gleamed like a sabertooth's from under the dark veil provided by my cowl.

"Be careful who you talk to," he warned quietly as I opened the door to the shrine.

I paused in the doorway, but otherwise didn't acknowledge him, simply slipping silently out the heavy metal doors, eager for Nocturnal to guide me in the protective embrace of her shadows.


	5. Back Off

Hey guys! I'd like to thank everyone who's been following this story so far, and for all the kind reviews. I'd also like to apologize in advance because I'll be needing to space out my updates a bit more. I'm preparing to head off to university soon, and I don't expect I'll have much time to write once class begins, especially in the first few weeks. I'll try to do what I can until then though.

Enjoy!

* * *

I lingered outside of the Shrine of Talos for a few seconds, shivering. If I thought Riften was cold, Markarth was positively glacial. You'd think having lived in Skyrim for most of my life I would have become accustomed to the frigid temperatures, but even after all this time, I must still have the tropics of Valenwood running through my veins.

The sky was an appropriate shade of red after the bloody murders that had occurred earlier that day – _or perhaps signifying something bloodier yet to come, _a voice couldn't help but whisper darkly in the back of my mind. I wasn't a believer of omens, nor curses, nor dragons, but there was something unquestionably ominous about the color the clouds had been painted.

It was definitely not as late or as dark as either Eltrys or I had clearly expected it to be (I never had the best grasp of time, and my hangover didn't help that matter to be sure), but that turned out to be a sort of blessing as I recognized the jeweler from earlier that day just beginning to pack up her wares. I couldn't begin to guess what time it actually was because the sun had long since disappeared behind the towering walls of Markarth, and the only place I really ever bought something legally was in taverns which were open twenty-four hours a day, so I wasn't too sure what time regular shops closed at. Looking back now, I suppose that would be a good bit of information for a thief to have.

The Redguard jeweler jumped as I tapped her shoulder, whirling around with a startled expression in her grey eyes and wrinkled face.

"By the Nine," she gasped, placing a hand over her heart as if to check if it was still beating. "You scared me half to death, girl. Didn't even hear you come up behind me."

"Sorry," I apologized, though I wasn't sorry at all.

"No, forgive me," she said. "I'm just... still a bit on edge from, well, I'm sure you've heard about what happened here already."

"I heard. Such an awful tragedy."

"I know," said the older woman sadly. "One moment Margret was chatting with me, looking to buy a necklace for her sister, sweet girl that she is – er, was – and the next, that vile lunatic killed her. I can hardly believe it."

From the state of the marketplace, I could hardly believe it had happened either. The guards had done an impeccably thorough clean up, both bodies moved and the ground scrubbed spotless of any traces of blood as soon as the crowd had cleared. Standing here talking to this vendor in the exact spot where Margret had been killed did, admittedly, make the murder seem a little surreal at this point.

"Do you know of any reason that anyone would want to hurt Margret?" I asked her gently, trying my luck.

Immediately her eyes narrowed, and she looked at me suspiciously. I kept my face as innocently blank as possible, though all I wanted to do at that moment was shrink back into the shadows under her scrutiny.

"What's your name, girl?"

"Nami." The lie flowed easily off my tongue as it had so many other times.

"Well, Nami," said the Redguard. "It's clear you're an outsider, but it's bad luck to talk of the dead here in Markarth. I'm locking up for the day, so unless you're here to buy anything, I should be on my way."

"Oh. Uh, no. I was just on my way to the Silver-Blood Inn" – I jerked my thumb at the building not too far away – "when I saw you. Thought I would offer my condolences since I, uh, heard that you were pretty close to the action."

Her look didn't soften in the slightest. Damn Redguard. She just gathered her belongings in a bundle, and with a stiff, "Talos guide you," scurried off so quickly that I didn't even feel guilty about plucking the silver jeweled necklace from her arms as she passed me by.

I heard foot steps, and the familiar chinking sound of the city guards' chain mail and I instinctively shrank back into the shadows. I kept my breath quiet as they patrolled wordlessly on their rounds, observing them patiently.

Though all the guards wore the same helmet, I could tell immediately that neither of the guards in front of me was the guard who had attempted to detain me earlier (who I had taken to calling Guard in my mind, capital letter and all). They lacked his rolling, confident gait, and weren't quite as broad in their shoulders as he was. I knew they couldn't see me, but the knowledge made me feel that much safer as they turned a corner, and I tiptoed to the entrance of the Silver-Blood Inn.

I was greeted with a wall of heat, courtesy of a roaring fireplace in that back, as I pushed open the metal doors of the tavern. A man and woman were arguing loudly as I entered, and I came to the conclusion that they were the unsightly owners of this place. I took a seat at the bar and watched them, faintly amused. According to what I'd heard from other members of the Guild, this was a regular occurrence.

Finally the woman seemed to notice me and she lowered her voice, all but shoving her husband towards me after a few more seconds of bickering.

The man shot her a dirty look as he approached me, wringing his ugly hands and looking none too pleased though he plastered a fake smile on his face. He was extraordinarily hairy everywhere except the top of his head which was as bald as an egg.

"Hello, miss. My name is Kleppr," he said, a crabby undertone to his obligatorily polite words. "If I can't get you something, I'm sure my wife will bellow at me until I can." He half turned at this point to shoot said wife with an icy glare. She ignored him which only seemed to inflame the bartender further. He turned back to me, all fake smiles and gritted teeth again. "A drink for you, ma'am? Or perhaps a room to rest your head for the night?"

For once, I didn't actually want a drink. The thought of alcohol still made my stomach churn as my body struggled to rid itself of the poisons of the last round with Sam. I did, however, realize that I literally could not remember the last time I had eaten, so I ordered some spiced beef and a baked potato. Kleppr disappeared to go get some, making sure to give his wife a wide berth, and leaving me to my thoughts.

From what little I had gathered from the jeweler, Margret seemed like an ordinary woman. I knew little more about the Forsworn except that they were a primarily Breton tribal group of people who directly opposed several major political groups in Skyrim (the Thalmor included), but despite appearing primitive, I did know that they weren't the type to murder an innocent woman in broad daylight for no reason at all. There had to be more to Margret than met the eye, and if I was going to find anything, it would probably be where she spent most of her time alone. In other words, I needed to get into her room.

Kleppr returned with my food shortly. The potatoes were cold, and the beef was dry, but I was ravenous enough not to care.

"Anything else?" the Nord asked.

"Actually," I said, swallowing a bite of potato. "I was wondering if a woman named Margret was staying here?"

"Ah, yes. Rented the nicest room we had for a whole month."

"Really?"

"Yes, but..." he shot a quick glance at his wife and lowered his voice. "It's best we all forget about her. Bad luck to talk about the dead in Markarth."

I almost quirked an eyebrow at the phrase. I'd thought that the vendor had just used that as an excuse to get me out of her hair, but maybe the people of Markarth really did believe that it was bad luck to talk about the dead.

_Such folly,_ I thought. _They sound like Niruin._

"Dead?" I decided to improvise, feigning shock.

He looked surprised, as if everyone in the city should know the news by now. Which, on second thought, they probably did. "Uh, yes. She was unfortunately... killed today. Did you know her?"

My hands flew up to my mouth. "Yes, we grew up in the same town together," I said, managing to tear up slightly. It was quite a spectacular performance, if I do say so myself. I guess Brynjolf had actually managed to teach me a thing or two about cons. "I'd heard she was staying here at Markarth, and I wanted to surprise her. I just arrived about half an hour ago."

The man shifted uneasily. "I'm sorry," he said awkwardly.

"I can't believe she's dead," I sniffed.

Kleppr looked sufficiently uncomfortable at this point, no doubt thinking of how his wife would berate him for making a customer cry, so I decided to go in for the kill.

"W-Would I be able to look at her room by any chance? She was like a sister to me, and I don't even have anything to remember her by."

_Gods, I'm good,_ I smirked internally as the innkeeper hurriedly pressed a silver key into my hand and escorted me in the direction of Margret's room, offering a thousand consolations per sentence. _Perhaps thievery is the wrong line of work for me. I should become a bard._

That almost made me laugh aloud, but at that point, I was safely out of earshot, Kleppr having kindly left me to 'mourn' by myself upon my request.

I shut the door once he left, and surveyed the room, hands planted on my hips. It was the eastern suite, and most definitely not as nice as Kleppr had made it out to be. Except for a wooden end table, everything in the room was made of stone, including the bed. It was lined with fur, but it still looked less comfortable than sleeping on the floor. Which was also stone.

Naturally, the first thing I did after I had gotten a quick glance around the room was swipe the coin purse off the end table. It wasn't like she was going to be needing those anyways, right? I then searched the eye level metal shelves lining the walls, but came up with nothing.

I wasn't really expecting to find anything; I was just being thorough. As an outsider, I could imagine how Margret felt about such a rocky enclosure. If she was anything like me, whether it was a conscious decision or not, she would have drifted towards the one thing in the room that wasn't rock.

_Bingo._

I found a red, worn journal in the top drawer of the end table, but I had no time to celebrate. Kleppr would no doubt only give Margret's grieving friend a few minutes before he became suspicious.

I flipped to the latest entry in her journal, thinking morbidly about how she would never write in it again.

_Middas, 12th of Heartfire_

_Meeting at the Treasury House later today. Took them long enough. These people act like they own everything._

_Thonar Silver-Blood is the younger brother, but he's obviously the one in charge. Makes all the deals, bullies the local landowners into selling to him. Even employs that wispy girl at the door to deter "trouble-makers" like me._

_General Tullius is growing impatient, but I'll bring back the deed to Cidhna Mine. On my life, I won't allow a group of Stormcloak sympathizers to own the prison to the most notorious criminals of the Reach. They say no one escapes. Why? Is it really that secure?_

_...Maybe I've played my hand too soon by rushing the confrontation with Thonar. There are shadows around every corner in this city, and I know I'm being watched._

I closed the book, pursing my lips disdainfully as I tucked the small journal into my cuirass. Of course this thrice damned civil war would be part of this. At least it sort of explained why Margret had been the target, and if she had been investigating Thonar Silver-Blood, I would stake all of the Guild's remaining gold that his hands were as bloody as the sunset sky. Eltrys would definitely want to take a look at this.

Without drawing attention to myself, I left Margret's room, placed the key on the bar for Kleppr (more to spare the rest of the guests more marital bickering than anything else) and, after quickly wolfing down a bit more of the meal I paid for, discreetly left the Silver-Blood Inn.

"Good timing, elf. I was just looking for you."

For some reason I wasn't the least bit surprised to see a city guard in front of me. I tensed, but was still relieved to note that it wasn't Guard.

"For me?" I asked sweetly. "Whatever for?"

He threw something and it clattered at my feet. Warily, not wanting to take my eyes off the man, I glanced down to see an elven arrow, broken in half and still stained with traces blood. They were fletched with hawk feathers, done in a particular way that only Niruin could manage. I often borrowed some from him during training.

"I believe that's yours," said the guard.

I said nothing. It was hard to deny that the arrow belonged to me when I had a quiver full of very similar arrows on my back. The guard took my silence as confirmation.

"It was brave of you to intervene today, but it was not necessary."

My eyes narrowed, glinting under my hood. "Did you really just seek me out to tell me that?" I asked.

The guard hesitated, but continued in a strong voice. "I've come to issue you a warning. You've been snooping around. Asking questions."

"And if I have?"

"Back. Off," he growled, irritated by my insolence. "You don't want to know what happens to trouble-makers here."

_I imagine I might end up quite a bit like my arrow, _I thought anxiously, though I kept that bit to myself.

"I'm not trying to cause trouble," I said instead.

"You're finding it, and that's bad enough," he said. "This is your last warning, outsider. We keep the peace here, so stay out of our business. We'll be keeping an eye on you."

_There are shadows around every corner in this city, and I know I'm being watched._

I nodded as that sentence from Margret's journal flashed through my mind, swallowing drily. Satisfied with my acknowledgment, the guard dipped his head and stalked off, reaching for his torch in the dimming light of the evening.

I took a few calming breaths, but as soon as he was out of sight, I spun on my heel, and headed towards the Warrens where Eltrys told me Weylin had lived.

_Stay out of our business? _Those were the magic words. Like an impertinent child, the forbidden always became that much more appealing. _Yeah right._

It wasn't too late to turn back, but now my curiosity was piqued. I had little doubt that the Silver-Bloods, the Forsworn, and the Markarth city guard all knew that Margret had been an Imperial spy, but something bigger was still at hand than a petty Stormcloak/Imperial feud. I knew this was a dangerous, double edged game of hind-and-seek I was playing with trouble, in which we were both at once the hiders and the seekers.

To Oblivion with the guards and their warnings. Markarth was ignoring the blatant stirrings of a perilous beast, fueled by the endless supply of corruption and skullduggery the citizens had to offer. Sooner or later this beast was going to awaken, and when it did, it would swallow this city whole, and the floodgates would open to a river of blood.

Rules be damned, I knew that if I didn't find trouble, trouble would find me, and this was one game of hide-and-seek I was going to end up winning whether I wanted to or not.


	6. More Threats

Forgive me if this part seems sub-par. I re-wrote some pieces of it at least half a dozen times, but I just couldn't get it right and now I'm just like slkdjsafblsjd. I want to move on. You'll also notice from here that I'll be extending quite a bit more creative freedom with details to try to get the plot moving faster (especially in the next chapter), so don't be too upset with me when it veers from what happens in-game.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Warrens was little more than a squalid cave. A couple fireplaces, barely embers now, faintly illuminated the cavern, and liquid that I hoped was water dripped down the side of the walls. The smelt workers were asleep when I walked through the dark entrance, save for two men sitting cross legged by the nearest fire pit. They stood uneasily, staring at me with a leery gaze as I approached.

"I hope you're not here to cause any trouble, friend," said the one with long red hair. "Is there something you need?"

"Yeah," the other one piped in. In the lighting he looks very similar to his friend, but his brunette locks were braided into two strands that draped over each shoulder in a Breton fashion. "We don't get many visitors here in the Warrens. 'Specially not at this time of day."

I paused for a moment, taking in the surrounding cavern with disgust.

"This place is a dump," was all I said in response.

They looked at each other as if to ask, _Is this elf for real?_ and laughed.

"Well, aren't you an observant one," the redhead scoffed, but sat down again nevertheless and gestured for me to join them around the dying fire. He grabbed a nearby stick and began to poke at the coals, sending sparks flying into the air, dancing wildly in their brief blazing moment of freedom as I tried to find the driest spot on the damp ground.

"So what brings a traveler like you down here?" asked Braids when we settled as comfortably as we'd get. "Most visitors go up the stairs here in Markarth, not down."

"Do I need a reason?" I deflected.

"No, I suppose not."

There was a moment of silence as we listened to the fire crackle softly, and I took the time to get a better look at the two smelters. They were young – around my age perhaps – and fairly muscular due to their profession, but they otherwise had the emaciated look of the poor that probably added a couple years to their faces. The glow from the fire highlighted dark circles under their eyes from countless restless nights, and having known my fair share of poverty, I couldn't help but feel a surge of sympathy for the men.

"What's your name?" the redhead said, breaking the surprisingly companionable silence.

"Nami," I said automatically.

He didn't even bat an eyelid. "Your _real_ name, stranger," he smiled thinly.

Normally I would have been pretty irritated having my lies blown blatantly out of the water, but I couldn't help but smile. There was something to be said for a guy who could cut through dishonesty like he had a daedric dagger.

"Kasha," I grinned unashamedly, lowering my hood. "And yours?"

He nodded, satisfied with my honesty. "The name's Garvey. This guy over here is Omluag." He slapped his friend heartily on the back and for a moment they looked like two regular, healthy Bretons before they shifted and the fire once again highlighted the gauntness in their cheeks.

Garvey turned back to me. "So what's your purpose here, Kasha?"

"What makes you so sure I have a purpose?"

"Because you're in Markarth," he said simply.

"I'm just exploring."

"No, you're not."

I chuckled. "I wish I was though."

I saw them try to steal a glance at each other, but I was the thief here; no one stole from me.

"So?" Omluag prompted.

"Alright," I lowered my voice and leaned in, making a split second decision to trust them. "I'm looking into the market attack. I need to find out more about Weylin."

Garvey's reaction was subtle but immediate. His eyes hardened and I could see goosebumps emerge on his bare arms, the thin hair standing on end.

"Oh yeah, Weylin," Omluag said obliviously, drawing my attention away from his redheaded friend. "Mulush was furious 'bout that. Would have killed the man himself if he wasn't dead already. He kept muttering 'Bastard could have at least gone crazy after we made our silver quota.'"

"Mulush?"

"Mulush gro-Shugurz. Damn tyrant of an orc. He's the overseer of the smelt workers, always being goaded on by the Silver-Bloods to get more work out of us. Doubt you'd be able to get anything out of him though, even if you could find a way to talk to him."

"Did you notice anything, I don't know, odd about Weylin before the attack?"

"Um..." He fell silent at a look from Garvey.

"Look, Kasha," Garvey said apologetically, looking tense. "Whatever you want to know, we're sorry, but we can't help you. We're smelters. That's it."

My eyes narrowed and flickered to Omluag but he just stared at his twiddling thums, giving nothing away.

"The guards have the market situation under control, I assure you," Garvey continued. "You should just leave it to them."

I waved him quiet and rolled my eyes, making it clear that I wasn't going to stand for his half-baked fibs. "You're preaching to the wrong person here," I said. "Anything you have to say to discourage me, I've heard – most of it coming from myself, too. Believe me when I say that it's not me you should be worrying about, but yourselves. Take a look around you. The Silver-Bloods are living like Jarls while you guys are down here starving, and all I need to take them down a notch is a _scrap_ of information about Weylin. Don't you want something to change?"

"We get worked like slaves, beaten if we make a mistake, and spend the only money we earn on food and rent for this piss hole," Garvey said softly but without hesitation. "Of course we want something to change, but the only thing more scarce here in Markarth than a polite word is a decent job for non-Nords."

"Then just let me do all the dirty work," I pressed.

Garvey gave me a strange look, realization dawning onto his face like a sunrise.

"Eltrys put you up to this, didn't he?"

I blinked. "Who?"

"That wasn't actually a question."

We stared each other down for a few moments, before I backed down, breaking eye contact.

"No, I suppose not," I begrudged him, drawing my knees to my chest.

"I really don't think you know what you're getting yourself into," Garvey said. "Eltrys shouldn't have gotten an outsider like you involved in Markarth's problems. You shouldn't be here."

"And yet, here I am," I shrugged. "I'm fairly sure I'm in too deep at this point to back down now anyways."

That drew a dry laugh from the man. "You're probably right about that. This city has eyes everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if a couple people have already heard of our conversation here."

I couldn't help but grimace at that comment. How do you hide when the walls have eyes?

"So are you going to help me?" I asked, looking first at Omluag and then at Garvey.

"Alright, alright," Garvey leaned forward, looking nervous but determined. "I didn't notice anything odd about Weylin's behaviour before, but Omluag told me he saw something strange when we received our last paycheck – if you can call it that, anyways."

We both looked over at Omluag. "He... He had a little extra slip of paper, I saw," Omluag said. "Took it right to his room after he got it and holed himself up there for a long time."

"A note? A letter?"

He shrugged.

"In any case, that's perfect," I said, pushing myself up, trying not to let my bubble of hope swell too large yet. "That's exactly the kind of thing I was looking for. Can you get me into his room?"

"Lucky for you, this rare streak of courage from me is still ongoing and I handle the keys here in the Warrens." Garvey plucked an ashy silver key from a keyring at his hip and gave it to me. "His room's right over there. As soon as you're done with that key, you give it back and leave immediately, got it?"

I flipped the key in the air, the dull surface managing to cast orange stars on the walls as it reflected the remaining embers from the fire.

"Of course," I grinned.

I was in and out of Weylin's room in two minutes. Thanks to my current occupation, it was easy to figure out where people kept the things they thought were of value: a strongbox, a chest, a display case – people were always too careless with their belongings and placed too much trust in locks.

In Weylin's case, it was a smelly chest in the corner of his dimly lit rocky room.

_And it's not even locked, _I thought, feeling a little disappointed at the lack of a challenge, but relieved at the same time. _If only everything could be this easy._

The note was made of fine paper with a pretty decorative border and a red wax seal broken hastily. I held it tentatively between my thumbs and forefingers, thinking that it was no wonder that Omluag had noticed such a flamboyant letter. The paper was crumpled and damp and dirty and the ink was a little smudged, but it was still clearly legible.

_Weylin,_

_You've been chosen to strike fear in the heart of the Nords. Go to the market tomorrow. You will know what to do._

_-N_

Frustration overwhelmed me, and I ground my teeth, squatting in front of the chest with the note in my hand. It seemed for every mystery I solved, more replaced it. Margret was murdered because she was an Imperial spy, and Weylin was no more than someone's lackey, murdering on their behalf. But who was N? How did Thonar Silver-Blood fit into this? These were all the pieces of a huge puzzle, and I was infuriatingly unable to see the big picture.

I folded the note and placed it between the covers of Margret's journal for safe keeping, rocking back and forth from my heels to the balls of my feet and chewing my nails in thought as I tried to figure out which trail to follow at this point.

_Screw it,_ I thought, standing abruptly. _I need to get these to Eltrys, and then I can figure out where to go from there._

True to my word, I slipped out of Weylin's room without so much as a word and placed the key back in Garvey's hand on my way to the door, but as I turned to leave, I felt a tug on my sleeve.

"I don't want to know what you found in there, Kasha," he whispered slowly. "But secrets don't like being uncovered here, and those that are revealed often have a bloody aftermath." He didn't blink once as he spoke, demanding my full attention. "I've taken a liking to you, so don't get yourself killed, you hear? Be careful."

I nodded, and he let my sleeve slip through his fingers, turning his gaze back to the embers and not sparing another glance my direction.

_People keep telling me to be careful, _I reflected, as I raised my hood once more and set out. _Maybe I really should start taking some more extensive precautions..._

Either way, it was due time to report back to Eltrys. With clues on Margret and Weylin, I had done everything he had asked, but I had no doubt that he would ask me to investigate Thonar Silver-Blood and this 'N' as well. He already had a foot in the door, so if he had the gold, I'd probably do it.

Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw movement. Freezing, I scanned the dimly lit lower levels of Markarth, searching, searching, searching. My breath steamed out in front of my face, the cloud a stark white contrast to the dark background that drew my attention to its provocative dance before fading into the air, only to be replaced a second later.

Was it just my breath I saw? No, I was certain I saw something.

Suddenly I felt a hand grab my hood and yank. I choked as I was forced backwards and around, gasping as the rough grasp ripped out a few stray strands of my hair that had gotten caught in the grip with my hood, but that pain was quickly overshadowed as a fist made contact with my jaw, my vision exploding with stars.

I fell to the floor with a grunt, skidding a few feet on my side from the impact.

_This hood just went from useless to detrimental,_ I thought through the stars in my vision, tenderly prodding the bruising skin on my face as I pushed myself up onto one knee.

If it wasn't official yet, it was official now; I hate hoods. I made a mental note to detach mine as soon as possible.

From my kneeling position, I glared up at my now visible attacker, a large Breton man sporting a mohawk that would have looked ridiculous had he not also been sporting an intimidating set of muscles and a decent suit of hide armour that added much to his bulk. Some damn stealthy bulk. But aside from the fact that he'd somehow managed to sneak up on me, it was clear that this man was merely hired muscle. Someone had sent him.

"You've been digging around where you don't belong," he said in a gruff voice, cracking his knuckles theatrically as he advanced. "I think it's time you learned a lesson."

To be honest, I really could have lived without learning a few of the lessons I'd learned in my lifetime, and my aching jaw was telling me that this one was one I could probably do without as well.

"Who sent you?" I asked, raising slowly into a defensive crouch. I felt like I had a pretty good idea who was behind this, but clarification was always nice.

"Someone who doesn't like you asking questions."

I had a pretty good idea that that would be his answer too.

He charged at me then, fists raised despite the axe at his hip. It was at this moment that I realized that not only was he severely underestimating me because he'd caught me relatively off guard, but that his only goal was to scare me.

Center of gravity already low, it only took a a quick sidestep and sweep of my leg to bring the large man down. Within seconds I had a knee digging into his back between his shoulder blades, and a hand pressing his face into the gritty wooden dock.

"Who sent you?" I hissed again in his ear.

He grunted and struggled and would have thrown me off his back had I not grabbed a fistful of his mohawk and slammed his head back into the ground as I regained my balance. It stunned him for a moment, but when another bout of his struggles threatened to switch our positions, I knew my body weight alone wouldn't be enough to subdue the mercenary.

_This guy is pissing me off._

Still gripping his hair tightly, I fumbled for the dagger hidden in my jacket with my free hand, and yanked his head back to expose his throat.

"Ready to talk yet?" I asked, pressing the dagger gently to his skin until he stopped squirming. I wasn't going to kill him, but he didn't need to know that.

"You mangy piece of pit bait," he swore.

"I've been called worse. Now talk, or I send you to the gods," I threatened, pulling his hair again. He gasped as I accidentally broke the skin at his neck. I could see the fear fleet through his eyes.

"I-I was sent by Nepos the Nose," he blurted out, suddenly a coward. "The old man sends out the orders."

"Orders?"

When he remained silent, I realized that was all the mercenary knew, and with a disgusted noise, relinquished my grasp of his mohawk, and carefully stood up, though I kept a good grip on my dagger in case he decided to try anything. But the mercenary was all bark and no bite, and with only a dark glare and a muttered curse, slunk away with his tail between his legs like the dog that he was.

The Thieves Guild wasn't the Dark Brotherhood. That was something drilled into our heads since day one of initiation. Accidents could happen, but that was one of the reasons why we usually avoided head-on violence. Still, there was something extraordinarily satisfying about taking down a man twice my size that even competed with the thrill of a heist.

Pain flared from my jaw again, distracting from my moment of triumph, and I hissed again, naturally having to prod once more at my jaw as all living beings are doomed to do with bruises.

I felt both alleviated at having taken down the man who had given me the bruise and annoyed that I had gotten it in the first place. Clearly I wasn't on my A-game tonight, and I could only hope that nothing worse would stem from my carelessness.

But knowing my luck, I highly doubted that.


	7. Nepos the Nose

_Niruin smiled his usual, devilish smile._

"_Not bad, newbie," he said._

"_Not bad?" I huffed, grinning madly. "Come on, you've got to give me more credit than that for what I just pulled off."_

"_Don't get too cocky."_

"_Rich coming from the cockiest bastard in the guild."_

_He laughed. "That title belongs to Mercer Frey, I'm afraid."_

"_So does the title 'Guild Master'," I pointed out._

"_Hey, don't get me wrong," said the Bosmer, still smiling. "The man has my total and deepest respect. It's just, y'know, he's no Gallus is all."_

"_No, I don't know," I frowned. "He's no what?"_

"_'Who'," he corrected me, seeming to remember who he was talking to. "Gallus was the previous Guild Master long, long before you joined us. He was much less... cranky."_

Everyone is less cranky than Mercer, I recalled thinking as the memory arose unbidden while I climbed up the steps to the Shrine of Talos. Niruin had refused to say much more about Gallus after that, ignoring my questions with such expertise that it made me wonder if he had siblings.

Of course, mention of a previous Guild Master had made me curious. The thought hadn't really occurred to me at the time that there had been someone before Mercer, and Niruin's stubborn silence on the topic coupled with the increasing quiescence around the Guild drove me to books. Some lay around the Guild, but most I 'borrowed'.

Sine then, the only book I'd managed to find with even a mention Gallus' name was called _Fall From Glory_, a recent publication theorizing about the Thieves Guild's decline, and it didn't tell me anything I didn't already know. It was frustrating, but when I had a book in my hand and felt the musty pages between my fingers, I found that reading was actually pretty enjoyable. Between the scarce jobs, the training, and the drinking, reading had asserted itself as one of my few hobbies to stave off boredom and to unwind.

It was odd. I hadn't thought about that day with Niruin in ages, and suddenly, here it was, flashing through my mind like it was yesterday. I was reminded of the book, the fourth volume of _A Dance in Fire_, sitting on my dresser back in the Cistern, suddenly wishing I could just sit down and read it now to lower my anxiety levels.

I shook my head, telling myself to focus. If my mind kept drifting off like that, sooner or later something would happen, and chances were it would suck. A lot.

A quick glance over my shoulder told me no one was following me, and I slipped deftly through the heavy metal doors of the Shrine.

"Eltrys?" I groped, searching for his silhouette against the candle glow around Talos.

"Kasha," he said, sounding as relieved as the first time I'd walked in. I saw his shadowed form rise from a sitting position by the right pillar.

"Hey," I said. "I've got your evidenc–"

"There's been another murder."

I froze. "What?"

"Another murder. Betrid Silver-Blood."

I strode towards Eltrys. "Silver-Blood?"

"Yes, Thonar Silver-Blood's wife. Right in his own home," he growled. "It was the Forsworn again. I knew the Silver-Bloods would be involved."

"More involved than you think," I said, reaching into my cuirass pocket and handing him Margret's red journal.

_But something's not right._

Like me, Eltrys flipped directly to Margret's latest entry, and I could see his eyes drinking in the page hungrily.

"She was a spy?" he said softly, tone not giving anything away. "Investigating Thonar Silver-Blood?"

My brow wrinkled in a tight frown. "Yes."

_But that's what's wrong with the picture. The Silver-Blood's are Nords. Why help them by slaughtering Margret and then turn around and murder Thonar's wife? It doesn't make sense._

I didn't say anything else as Eltrys found the note to Weylin and quickly absorbed that too while I stood by patiently.

"Any idea who N is?" He glanced up, and his eyes widened in shock. "By the Nine. What happened to your face?"

I blinked, forgetting for a moment what he meant until the reminder sent another flare of pain through my jaw.

"I found out who N is," I grumbled, rubbing it tenderly. "That's what happened."

"Really?" His eyes lit up, reflecting the candles around Talos' imposing figure. "I mean, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," I waved away his concern. "It looks worse than it actually is."

It wasn't swollen or anything, but the discoloring was getting more obvious, and it worried me that the bruise was visible even in this dim lighting. He nodded, only half convinced.

"N's someone who goes by the name Nepos the Nose." I said, getting back to business.

Eltrys turned and his face darkened. "Nepos," he repeated thoughtfully, chewing on his thumbnail. "I had a feeling the old man was involved in this. Anyways – " he faced me again, trying to smile. "You've done more than I ever would have thought in the time you did it. You've deserved this."

1200 gold for a worn out journal and a piece of paper. Not bad for a couple hours of work, if I do say so myself. That's 600 per piece, and much more than I would have made from Delvin or Vex on one of their jobs to be certain. I could feel a grin that would put a sabertooth to shame spread across my face as I felt the weight of the two pouches in my hand.

"Pleasure doing business with you, good sir," I said giddily, storing them safely.

"And you." We stood awkwardly for a moment, me waiting for the inevitable question he was bound to pop, and him drawing up the courage to ask. "Kasha..." he began at last, and I waited again while he searched for words in his mind. "Kasha, I'm grateful for all you have done for me. In such a short time you have already accomplished more than I have in years."

"You know I don't appreciate beating around the bush, Eltrys."

_You know what he's going to ask, _said the sane voice in my head again. _Quit while you're ahead, and channel your energy into finding Sam._

"Sorry," he said. "I really do hope you understand how grateful I am though. But, um, listen. I have more gold in it for you, and I figured, since you seem to be a natural at this, if you wouldn't consider investigating some more about Nepos or Thonar?"

He was so timid that I almost threw back my head and laughed. A little chuckle did escape, but it was quickly cut off when the movement disturbed my bruise.

"What's so funny?" he asked indignantly.

"Nothing, nothing," I said, lips still curled. "I'll do it."

_I'll do it._

My words still rang in my head after I left Eltrys and the Shrine, my voice echoing aimlessly. It was late now, but the high from receiving all that gold made my heart pound like a drum. I knew I should go rent a room at the Silver-Blood Inn and get some much needed rest, but my blood was rushing as if a dam had exploded in my veins.

_I'll do it..._

"_I'll do it!" I said, overzealous and overeager to prove myself._

"_You?" Niruin laughed, and I shot him a murderous glare._

"_Now, now, kids," Delvin drawled. "Don't make me separate you."_

_I folded my arms across my chest, noticing Brynjolf trying to hide an amused smile behind a gloved hand. When I turned my glare towards him, he quickly composed himself, clearing his throat._

"_Sorry, lass," he said. "But Mercer wants Vex on this job. Maven thinks something suspicious is going on and wants the best on this job."_

"_Vex isn't even going to be back for another two months," I complained._

"_A couple months extra for you t'get some more experience under your belt. __You're a bit too green to do a job this big yet I say," Delvin said._

"_Green?" I bristled, standing up at the table the four of us were sitting at. "_Green?_ I've been a member of this Guild –"_

"_A lot shorter than everyone else," Delvin interrupted sharply, snapping me out of my anger. "Some of us have been members of the Thieves Guild for longer than you've been stealin' period. So don't argue with Brynjolf, girl. He's second in command for a reason. Vex is the best at what she does, but if Maven's suspicions are correct, then even she'll have trouble with this job, I reckon."_

_I opened my mouth to say something but jumped as a thick, muscular arm draped around my shoulders, and looked up to see Thrynn grinning goofily down at me. Thrynn was one of the larger members of the guild, strong as a mammoth and a good head taller than me with the typical shoulder length dirty blonde hair and blue eyed traits of a Nord. It irritated me that I hadn't heard him come into the Ragged Flagon, especially after Delvin had just called me green, but his interruption came at a good time or my wounded pride might have caused some serious damage._

"_What job is this?" he asked._

"_Something going on with one of Maven's honey producers__," Brynjolf answered, relieved that the tension had dissipated._

"_Ah, yes," Thrynn said. "Heard about that. Goldenglow, right? Delvin and Brynjolf are right on this one. It's best to avoid getting in Maven's cross hairs, even if we are on her side. Trust me, Kasha."_

_I just grunted in response._

"_Hey Delv, you got a job for us? I haven't been out for a while and I don't want my skills to get rusty. Niruin's been hogging the newbie all to himself for the past month, so I think it's my turn with her. "_

_He glanced at Niruin as he said this who just shrugged nonchalantly and said, "Take her."_

"_I'm not even new anymore," I said, grabbing the ex-bandit's hand and twirling out from under his arm like a dancer._

"_You're newer than the rest," he construed with a shrug. "Until we get another recruit to pick on, you'll always be the newbie of the family."_

"_I don't want to be coddled. I'm good at what I do."_

"_We ain't coddling you, Kasha, and I certainly __didn't mean to say you aren't good at what you do," Delvin said in apology, realizing that he might have come across a little harsh. "But in regards to yer question, Thrynn, I believe I actually do have a job the two of you can do."_

I was in front of an unfamiliar door in the opposite direction from the inn when a guard strolled by with a torch held high, snapping me out of the second memory I'd succumbed to. He regarded me suspiciously as he passed but otherwise said nothing, and I watched as he walked away with his light source, thinking that perhaps I really was tired since I kept getting distracted by these memories.

It was at Nepos' house, I knew, despite never having been there. Eltrys had given me directions just moments earlier. The riverside of the City of Stone, where the Warrens was, was barren and wasted and rotting. But at least you could see the rot. This side of Markarth looked pretty with its identical Dwarven metal doors built into the mountain, with hardly any sign of of the rot that ate at the city's bones. And that was the scariest part. How oblivious the people and visitors could be to what was underneath, that is. The amount of _indifference_ was perhaps worse than the actual participation here. At least in Riften people could recognize corruption when they saw it.

I recalled Mjoll the Lioness just then, the self proclaimed protector of Riften, and how much trouble she'd given Thrynn and me after we'd returned from that mission Delvin had given us, and I couldn't help but smile. She hadn't known who she was tracking, but she chased us around Riften for a good two and half hours before we finally evaded her for good. It hadn't been that long ago either. If there was one thing that Markarth needed, it was a Mjoll or three.

_I never would have guessed that I'd end up missing the Lioness, _I thought with dry humour.

Nepos the Nose's house wasn't anything special. A normal house built into the rocky foundation with a normal double door illuminated by a normal brazier suspended from the overhang.

I felt myself reach out and trace the lock on the door with my gloved fingertips, bending down to take a closer look at what I'd probably be breaking into tomorrow. I leaned my weight on the door to help me kneel, recoiling immediately when the door shifted slightly with a creak.

_It's not locked,_ I realized. I was surprised again when I pushed on the door again to see light slash through the darkness from the crack to paint a golden line on the hard rock ground. It was joined by a heavenly aroma of what smelled like cooked salmon. I opened the door a bit further, the stream of gold flowing across the ground widening a touch, but I was still unable to see inside.

_Just a little more..._

Suddenly the door was thrown open, and I would have cried out had my heart not leapt into my throat. I threw my weight backwards so that I wouldn't fall forwards onto my face.

"Just what in Oblivion do you think you're doing?" a stern voice asked.

I stared up at the silhouette of a woman glaring down at me in the doorway with her hands planted on her hips, feeling extreme déjà vu. Senna had stood in the exact same position while chastising me earlier that day. My mouth opened and closed stupidly, a thousand words flying through my mind, but none through my tongue.

"What is your business here?" the woman questioned again.

"I-I, uh –"

"Uaile?" an elderly voice called out from inside the house. "Uaile, who is it?"

"Dunno," she called back, not turning away from me. I didn't move, uncertain about what was going to happen next. "Some sneaking Bosmer girl by the looks of it. We aren't expecting any visitors," she said, addressing me again. "The old man needs his rest, so if your business isn't urgent, I strongly suggest your come back another time."

"Wait," the voice called again. "It's okay, my dear. Send her in."

The woman looked shocked, and I imagine a similar expression lit my face, but she composed herself quickly and stepped aside.

"Hmph. Yes, Nepos." She scowled at me when I didn't move. "Well, you heard him," she said. "Get up and come in."

_This is not how I expected this to turn out,_ I thought warily as I pushed myself to my feet and dusted myself off. I could feel her eyes boring holes into my back as she closed the door behind my stumbling form.

I walked down the narrow hallway that lead to the main room, awed by how big the place was. If this house was all one room, it might have almost compared to the Cistern. Almost. Two separate dining tables sat in the middle of the extensive main room, fully stocked with candles and sweet wine and food. A large chandelier dangled from the ceiling between the two tables, and two men milled about in a room further back, glancing quickly at me as I entered but they otherwise didn't acknowledge my presence.

"Over here, girl," said the elderly voice to my right, drawing my attention to an old man sitting on a wooden chair by a roaring fireplace in the corner, comfortably flipping through a book. "Forgive me, but my legs aren't quite what they used to be, so you'll have to pull up a chair from one of those tables and join me here I'm afraid."

I did what he suggested without a word, removing my bow and laying it across my lap so I could sit. My heart was a caged bird as I listened to the soft, almost lyrical rustle of pages being turned.

"I'm sorry about my housekeeper. She's a little protective of me," he said not looking up from his book as I positioned the chair next to him while keeping a safe distance. Nepos the Nose was aptly named I noticed when I managed to get a good look at him. His nose took up a good two thirds of his face and wouldn't have looked out of place on a giant. He was bald as an egg, with a beard that matched the fur shawl of his expensive green robes. "Now, what is it you want?"

The way he spoke so casually and confidently as if I was no more a threat than the cooked salmon on the tables unnerved me. It was clear that he knew who I was and what I was doing or he wouldn't have hired someone to come after me, so I decided to get straight to the point.

"You sent that thug after me."

"Ah, yes. You've proven to be a real bloodhound," he said, his attention still focused on his book. I felt a twinge of irritation. "To be honest, I didn't expect you to get so far so fast, but you've sniffed me out. Well done." My grip tightened around my bow's limbs, beginning to sweat nervously. "I've been playing this game for almost 20 years. Sending the young to their deaths," he continued, sounding a little remorseful. "All in the name of the Forsworn. And I'm tired. So tired."

"Then why?" I blurted out. I was genuinely curious why such a man, old, smart, and nothing like the typical Forsworn agent would do this.

"Because my king told me to," he said simply. "Madanach. When the uprising fell at the hands of the Nords, they threw him in the mines. I don't know how, but he lives. I get his messages, and I hand out his orders without question."

"And Madanach..."

"He is the King in Rags. A man who once held all the Reach within his grip. He stokes the passions of the downtrodden in this city. Directs them to kill the enemies of the Forsworn in our name. All from inside Cidhna Mine. A Nord prison." A small smile tugged at his lips. "The irony is quite thick."

My knuckles white around the bow.

"You realize that you've just confessed all your crimes to me. Even if people didn't believe me at first, there's no way an accusation of this sort could be ignored." I said slowly, my expression carefully neutral. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"My dear girl," said Nepos the Nose almost wistfully. He finally shut his book and looked up, solemnly looking me square in the eyes. "What makes you think you're getting out of here alive?"


	8. No One Escapes Cidhna Mine

Sorry I sort of just dropped off the face of the earth for a couple weeks there. College life and all that. Fair warning, I probably won't be posting anything for quite a while, because I've been swamped with things to do, but I'll try to do some.

Anyways, I'm not _entirely_ satisfied with this chapter, but I felt bad about not posting anything, and I honestly don't have time to rewrite it. It's sort of long, and action packed, so I hope it was worth the wait!

Enjoy!

* * *

_"The most important tool in the thieves' repertoire is distraction, either planned or improvised."_

-Purloined Shadows by Waughin Jarth, The Elder Scrolls

* * *

"You were seen coming in," Nepos said, stroking the blank leather cover of his book. "The girl at the door is a Forsworn agent masquerading as a maid. You aren't the first one to have gotten this far. You won't be the last."

There was that remorse in his voice again, but after he'd just told me, whatever tone he took didn't really matter.

They were going to kill me.

Oh my gods, they were going to kill me.

If the maid, Uaile I think her name was, was a Forsworn agent, then it was only logical that the other two men were too. As it stood now, it was four of them against me. The odds weren't in my favor, and they weren't getting any better. I felt the beginnings of panic begin to bloom in my chest, but I quickly snuffed it out. Panic was just as much an enemy as Nepos in this moment.

"I..." I swallowed. "I suppose you also ordered the death of Betrid Silver-Blood then."

I was stalling, but at least he didn't seem to be in any rush either. In fact, I think he might have been stalling too.

"Yes," he croaked. "A much different target than what my king usually commands of me, but I am not one to question Madanach." He appraised me for a long moment. "You may relax, girl," he said gently. "If you stay as tense as you are, Uaile might mistake one of your movements as hostile and end your life a bit sooner than necessary. I am sure you are in no hurry to die, and I am in no hurry to kill you."

"Then there must be some sort of deal we can strike?" I asked. I loosened my grip a bit on my bow slightly to appease him, but I was otherwise unable to relax. "A compromise, surely?"

"You are a clever girl," he sighed. "The world sorely lacks clever creatures such as yourself. However, there are times when such sacrifices must be made. It's for the good of the Reach. The Nords have rotted this city, and we must cleanse it by taking it back..." He paused, his eyes studying me carefully from head to toe, lingering particularly on my cuirass. "I've seen your armour before," he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Though not in a decade at least, I'd say." I remained silent as he tsked. "The Thieves Guild had it's run here, though it was seized from them by the Nords as well. It may be strange, but in a way, I respected them. For their tenacity if nothing else. It's such a shame you were so careless."

My fingers clenched around my bow again, more in anger than anxiety this time. Delvin had called me careless a couple times, as had Vex, and Brynjolf had once too. They always had good cause to, but it would make me seethe nonetheless. Niruin had plenty of opportunity to call me careless, the most recent of which I acquired my most recent nickname_, _but he never did, and I was always grateful.

Despite the fumbles and where I presently sat, Nepos the Nose had no right to call me careless.

"Careful, girl," he said, his eyes flicking to the bow in my lap. A feminine hand planted itself on my shoulder from behind in warning, and I could see the glint of metal reflecting the fireplace on the walls. "I would release that if I were you."

"It is best you do what the old man says–" Uaile began.

And then I acted.

I didn't have any time to think. Thinking was slow. Gripping the lower limb of my bow like a two handed weapon, I twirled and swung the weapon at the maid's face with all my strength. A satisfying crack resounded as the bow made contact with the side of her head, and she fell to the ground, her dagger clattering a few feet away from her crumpled form.

"Stop her!" Nepos boomed, knocking his chair over in his haste to create distance between us. The other two male servants were charging at me from across the room, daggers in hand. Quicker than I'd ever moved before, I readjusted my grip on my bow, nocked an arrow, and a second later, the Breton with the face paint was down with an arrow through his abdomen and a second through the neck as he stumbled.

I could hear nothing but the blood rushing in my ears and my heart desperately trying to break free from my chest. I felt my body move and watched as everything happened in slow motion.

The second Breton was on me, his dagger flashing wildly in untrained but deadly strokes through the air, and at this close of a range, I could do nothing but dodge and defend against his swipes, the sound of metal hitting metal resounding through the house as I blocked slash after slash with my elven bow, praying it would hold out on me.

Suddenly I felt a searing pain in my right arm and an explosion of heat threw me across the room. A cry ripped out of my throat as my side struck the corner of one of the dining tables, the force of the collision scattering the silverware and food across the floor and effectively knocking the wind out of me.

Breathless, I collapsed to one knee, clutching my bruising rib. Nepos stood across the room next to his remaining Forsworn agent, both his hands swathed in dangerous red flames that licked greedily at the air. But those flames didn't compare in the slightest to the fire burning in his eyes.

"You have made a grave mistake," he calmly raged, a vein pulsing on his bald head. "We underestimated you, but don't think I'll make the same mistake again."

The flames around his hands swelled abruptly, and thinking fast, I dove head first under the table I'd crashed into and flipped it on it's side just in time for another ball of flames to crash into it. The flames exploded on contact with my makeshift barrier, jolting and scorching the wooden surface but otherwise leaving it in tact.

"Surrender now," I heard Nepos the Nose call. "And I may still grant you a swift death yet."

I stayed hidden behind the table, mind racing as I panted heavily.

_Calm, Kashyra, calm, _I thought, wincing as I noticed my charred sleeve. I saw now that Nepos's first blow had eaten away a good chunk of the leather and left a severe burn on the exposed skin underneath. _The only way you're getting through this is with a clear mind. So calm down, damn you. Calm._

I froze as I heard the sound of their footsteps advancing slowly, forcing my breathing to slow and my mind to form coherent thoughts.

"You're making this much harder for yourself, elf," said Nepos, but I didn't pay him any mind. I'd been in enough battles to know he was just trying to distract me.

Could I get him to waste his magicka and then attack? Not likely I would survive that. Was it possible to charge past them and barrel out the front door? Could I get an arrow into Nepos before his fire balls reached me? Maybe. I was younger and quicker than him and would have the advantage of a first strike, but as soon as I poked my head out from my safe haven, I would be bombarded.

Thought after thought bled into one another until I was left more confused and rattled than before. But I couldn't just stay behind this table. They wouldn't wait for me to make a move forever, and sooner or later they would flank me. If that happened, I would truly be a sitting duck.

I pulled an arrow from my quiver and nocked it in preparation, listening for footsteps again, but the room was silent, the calm before the storm.

_Stendarr, have mercy,_ I prayed as I readied my bow. _Arkay, Akatosh, Dibella, Julianos, Kyraneth, Zenithar, Mara – Talos too. If the Daedra will help me, I'll even send them a prayer._

I didn't dream of honourable deaths as the Companions might. I didn't dream of death at all, in fact. I wanted to live. By the Eight – Nine – it didn't even matter to me anymore at this moment. I just didn't want to die.

The ghost of an etheric, wicked chuckle whispered in my ear causing a shiver to crawl up my spine like scurrying rats, and I immediately whipped around to locate the noise, only finding the lifeless eyes of the Forsworn I had killed staring at me from a few meters away, his blood seeping slowly across the floor. The laugh echoed again from above me, but this time faded into an eerie _creeeaaak, creak, creak,_ and I glanced up.

The chandelier in the middle of the room swayed dangerously, and the lights from the braziers around the room began to flicker as if a gale was sweeping through the room.

But the air was still.

"What dark sorcery is th –"

And then the room went black.

_This is my chance,_ I realized, though the thought seemed to be planted in my head from an outside source. The fire from Nepos's hands now acted as a beacon while I became enshrouded in comfortable cover of darkness._  
_

I jumped up and the seconds slowed, extending into what felt like minutes.

The old man's jaw snapped shut mid sentence as his head swiveled from the swaying chandelier to focus on me, the nostrils of his enormous nose flaring violently. His spotted hands, gnarled like the limbs of the Eldergleam Tree in Whiterun, flexed beneath their cloaks of fire, and the flames responded appropriately, burgeoning like deadly orange blossoms. In my peripheral vision I could see the Forsworn man charging in my general direction, dagger raised high above his head, and his mouth open in an enraged battle cry.

But my bowstring was already pulled back taut to my ear, and I looked down the head of my arrow, only listening to the _creaak, creaak, creaak _of the chandelier above. My lips parted and I felt myself exhale. I didn't hear the sound of my bowstring as I released it, but I was suddenly watching my arrow slicing through the air, rotating in a deadly spiral towards its target.

As soon as the arrow made contact with Nepos' chest, the chandelier stopped swinging and light returned to the braziers, replacing the extinguished mage light. He writhed around on his back for a moment, his old bones unable to lift him.

"You'll stay down if you know what's good for you, old man," I panted, training another arrow on him. The Forsworn man, who had frozen when the light returned, twitched, and I mechanically unloaded three arrows into his body before he, too, fell, my frayed nerves unable to handle the paranoia of having him alive.

The only one left standing now, I lowered my bow cautiously, slowly circling around the fallen table that had provided me shelter.

"Foolish girl," Nepos coughed quietly from where he lay as I approached, his chest bloody. "This... will not save you. Madanach is as relentless in his... mission as Cidhna Mine is... inexorable" – cough – "You will soon wish that you had died here by my hand rather than... rather than..."

Nepos the Nose released one last shuddering breath as the life drained from his eyes. I felt nothing as I gazed down at his dead body. I didn't feel hatred nor triumph nor sadness. Nothing. Just an empty, gaping hole where exhaustion had eaten away at any emotions I should have felt.

My whole body was trembling. Halfway down the hall to the front door my knees gave out and I fell to the ground, my stomach churning and in knots at the same time. The smell of blood was ripe in the air, sickening in its sweetness. My bow lay on the ground beside me.

I stared at the ground blankly for a moment, unable to find the strength to move, barely registering the shadow of a stumbling figure coming up behind me. A glint of metal snapped me out of my daze, but not fast enough.

Too slow, I turned, left hand instinctively raised in protection as a dagger fall towards me, and the next thing I knew, I was staring straight into the murderous eyes of Uaile, the bloody blade of her dagger emerging from the back of my gloved hand. Ruthlessly she pulls her blade out of my hand, my hand spasming violently as I cried out, blood splattering like paint from the edges of her weapon.

Uaile was unsteady and slow. Blood trickled down the side of her face and into her left eye from the blow from my bow, but for some reason I was slower. Her dagger arced towards me again, but every single one of my limbs was made of lead.

She straddled my waist, my back pressed into the floor and my quiver digging into my spine as we grappled desperately. My right hand gripped her left, blade wielding wrist tightly trying to keep her dagger away from me while my left hand smeared blood on her face, trying to push her off me.

"You bitch," she ground out. She tried to push the dagger forward, but I managed to hold her off. We were stuck in a deadlock and my hand screamed and my burnt arm felt like it was still on fire.

"Me?" I spat back. "You're – aggh – you're the ones who tried to k-kill me first."

She finally disentangled her wrist from my grasping fingers, and, using her backwards momentum and the dizzy look that came into her eyes, somehow managed to flip us over. We growled and snapped at each other like feral wolves, trying to kick scratch at each other to get at the dagger in her hand. I wished that I had put mine in a more accessible pocket.

"_Get off of me_," Uaile howled, struggling to move her pinned arms.

"You know, I've always hated the people in this city," I said. "Today I actually met some relatively nice ones, but then you" – she began to struggle again – "you just _had _to ruin it all, didn't you. You and your damnable Forsworn issues."

She threw back her head and screamed in rage and frustration. I was surprised I was stronger than her to be honest, but then again, adrenaline can make you do some pretty amazing things.

"I'll kill you," she wailed. Sparks flew from her finger tips.

_Shit, she's a mage too,_ I thought, thankful that I'd incapacitated her first. If I'd had to contend with two fire mages, I probably wouldn't be wrestling with Uaile right now. I flinched as sparks flashed again, and her wails increased in volume as no fire was lit. I may not have hit her hard enough to kill her, but at least I'd hit her hard enough to keep her discombobulated._  
_

_Time to end this,_ I thought, not wanting to be around when she finally managed to ignite a fire.

Bracing myself, I pulled my head back, and cracked my forehead into hers. I was left seeing stars as I reeled backwards, but Uaile, already suffering from a head wound, was unconscious almost immediately.

_What in Oblivion just happened? _I thought, leaning against the wall for support. I tore my left glove off with my teeth and pocketed it to get a good look at my punctured hand, but there was only a certain amount of damage one could judge after having your hand run through with a dagger. The only things I could say for certain was that I wouldn't be using to for a while, and that it hurt like a bitch.

In hindsight, I should have cut a strip from Uaile's skirt or something to bandage it, but my mind was a bit fuzzy then.

"Agh," I groaned, a sharp pain erupting from my left side. My hand flew to the wounded area, clutching it tightly. I must have banged into that table harder than I'd thought.

My leather cuirass felt slick, and at first, I assumed it was from the the blood from my hand, but then my fingers ran over a ridge, just above my hip. A rip. A cut.

_She stabbed me?_ I conceived. _My gods, I've just been stabbed._

I grabbed my bow and stumbled to the door way, feeling every injury flare up. My jaw, the crown of my head, my arm, my hand, and my side. Especially my hand and my side.

_I need to get to Eltrys,_ I thought. _He can help me._

I hobbled out the door and to the Shrine of Talos slowly, my legs quaking with the effort and every injury throbbing. My right arm hung limp at my side and warm blood leaked through my fingers clamped against my side, dripping down my cuirass with every ungainly step. It was late enough by now that practically no one was on the streets, and I was lucky enough not to encounter any guards or I'd have had a lot of explaining to do. Not to mention that this was a direct result of me ignoring their warnings to take my elvish nose out of their business.

"Damn it," I growled softly to myself, trying to curse the pain away.

The Shrine wasn't much farther but I couldn't go any faster. I tried to control my breathing as I came upon the doors, having to pause for a moment. When the clouds of steam puffing out of my mouth normalized, I leaned my back against the door (both arms currently out of commission to do any heavy pushing), feeling my quiver and bow digging into my back as the door creaked open.

"Eltrys?" I croaked as the door shut behind me, my eyes having to adjust to the dim candle light as usual. Immediately something felt off, and I tensed despite the pain it caused all my sore muscles.

A laugh. "I told you she'd come," said a dreadfully familiar voice. Three figures stepped from around the concealed corners and into the light around the statue of Talos where I finally noticed a fourth figure lying limp at the ninth god's feet.

"No," I whispered. I was too overwhelmed. Too much had happened in the last hour alone nevermind the last day.

"We warned you," said a second guard whose voice I recognized as the one who approached me after coming out of the Silver-Blood Inn. "You just had to go and cause trouble, didn't you."

"Now we have to pin all these recent murder on you," said the first one. It was Guard. I knew it was. I could practically hear his arrogant smirk. "Silence witnesses, etc. etc."

_He enjoys this,_ I thought with disgust.

"What did you do to Eltrys?" I ground out.

Guard laughed. If I had the strength, I would have grabbed my bow and shot him through the neck, to Oblivion with the consequences. "What does it look like?" he said. "We did the same thing we do with all other natives who want to change things around here."

Fear for Garvey and Omluag immediately flashed through my mind, and I prayed that they were safe.

"We had a nice little deal going on between Thonar and Madanach until you and Eltrys started snooping around. You wanted to find the man responsible for those killings? You'll have plenty of time with the King in Rags when you're in Cidhna Mine."

I spat on the ground.

"You lot are filthy," I hissed. "Corrupt beyond salvation. You bastards deserve to rot in the worst part of Oblivion."

Guard approached me menacingly. I knew I should turn and run, but I couldn't find the strength. I could see him evaluate my burnt sleeve and the blood seeping from and through my left hand.

"Seems like a little elf got a bit too deep in over her head," he said, advancing towards me until my back hit a wall and I couldn't retreat any further. "I should have arrested you earlier, but I guess criminals all end up in the same place."

"And you should be coming with me," I snarled.

"Ranmir..." one of the other guards said cautiously.

Guard (who I suppose had a name now) silenced the other man with a hand. "Don't even try to stop me, Lothar," he said, stepping close to me until his helmet was inches from my face. He was trying to intimidate me, and it was working. "This _wench,_" – he emphasized the word by grabbing a fistfull of my hair – "needs to be be taught a lesson in respect."

"You're insane," I gasped for lack of comeback, wincing as his gloved fingers intertwined more deeply in my hair..

I saw his face contort in rage through the slits in his helmet. One thing was clear to me – this man had a deep seated superiority complex and couldn't stand his authority being challenged. Maybe I could use that to my advantage.

Without warning, he kneed me as hard as he could in my left side, directly into my bleeding wound. My scream, unhindered because of the surprise of the attack echoed loudly in the Shrine as excruciating pain erupted from it. I think I blacked out for a few seconds and would have collapsed had he not been holding me up by my hair.

"You'll never see the light of day again, understand me?" Guard growled in my face as black spots encroached on my vision. He let go of my hair and let me crumple to the ground in an unceremonious and bleeding heap. "No one escapes Cidhna Mine."

My eyes closed, and I listened to the sound of a heated argument that sounded miles away, but just before I lost consciousness completely, I thought I heard that ghost of a sly laugh whisper once again in my ear before the darkness claimed me for good.


	9. Earning Keep

Hark, is this an update I spy? After how long? Shhh. It's okay. It's here now.

I apologize to and thank all those who are, for some reason, still following this story, and even those who are just discovering it. When I said I that I wouldn't be posting for a while, even I didn't quite expect it to be quite so long.

Enjoy!

* * *

_I was trembling. I knew it was cold – it was freezing, and by all rights I should be black from frostbite head to toe, but I felt nothing._

_I was in the middle of a blizzard. I think. Everything was white. I couldn't tell where the earth ended and the sky began. Snow seeped into my boots with each, arduous step as I waded through the knee-deep sea of white._

_"Hello?" I called out._

_The wind whipped the words from my tongue and tore it to shreds before it left my mouth._

_"HELLO," I screamed this time, my throat ripping, but the result was the same._

_I fell to me knees, the snow enveloping my waist, and wrapped my arms around myself, my shaking uncontrollable._

_The snow around me was turning red, the color seeping and spreading around me like a spiderweb from a wound in my left side, and I turned, watching the red spiral outwards like glass breaking._

_I heard a laugh. It was familiar and loud and wicked. It whispered like a temptress' sultry voice and howled in my ears like psychopathic wind._

_"Oh, Kasha," I heard it sigh before another gale picked up, whipping my hair around in my face and flying away with another hearty chuckle and a faint creaking in the background._

_I tried to stand up, only to find the snow had frozen around me, molding around my waist. Panic welled up in my chest, as my struggles proved fruitless. A hysteric sob escaped my chapped lips and I slammed my fists repeatedly into the solid anchor encasing my lower body. The web of red – of blood I realized now – expanded as far as my eyes could see, finally defining a horizon in the expanse of white._

_My fists pounded into the ice, again and again._

_Again and again._

_Again and again._

_Again and – _

Crack!

_I froze mid swing, feeling the frozen earth around me jolt._

_C-Cra-ack!_

_I felt the snow shifting around me with each crac, and then all at once t__he ice shattered, splitting along the bloody web spiraling around me._

_My breath hitched in my throat, on the verge of a scream..._

_And then I was falling into blackness._

I woke with a start. Or at least, I would have if I had the strength to do anything but slowly open my eyes. I felt a hundred times worse than when I'd woken up with a hangover in the Temple of Dibella. I tried to move, but as soon as I shifted, an enormous pain ripped through my side and right arm.

I whimpered, but the sound ended up being more like a warbled moan.

I lay there, breathing deeply and looking at the rocky ceiling, an emptiness deep inside the cavity of my chest.

I remembered everything that happened before I blacked out clear as day and I wanted to be pissed. I had every damn right to be pissed. But I wasn't.

Why wasn't I? I had just been framed and unjustly imprisoned for what would probably be the rest of my life. A month ago this situation would have had me flying off the handle, but now...

It took me a while, but somehow I managed to swing my legs over the side of the lumpy prison bed. My torso, right arm, and left hand were heavily bandaged, though the cloth was brown with my dried blood and looked as dirty as the thin, hardly decent rags I wore over them.

The rusty hinges of the cell door squealed as it was pushed open.

"You're finally up," said a bulky Orc woman. "About damn time. Been a waste of our resources here. You're in Cidhna Mine and you're expected to earn your keep."

I winced, my side throbbing, but it was a lesser pain than I last remembered. How long had I been unconscious? I voiced my question.

"A little over a week and a half," said the Orc. "In and out of consciousness, although conscious is being generous. You probably don't remember anything."

I didn't. I said nothing.

"Get up. It's break time for the prisoners at the moment so get down there and orient yourself. You'll be mining ore here until you're throwing up silver bars, so you better get used to your surroundings."

A snarky remark surfaced briefly in my murky mind, but I quickly suppressed it. There was a time and place for everything, and this was neither the time nor the place. Instead, I obediently bowed my head and hobbled out of the cell, feeling naked and vulnerable without my armor. The descent into the mine was onerous and tiring, the current condition of my body making the simple task of walking down the stairs into the pit excruciating. It took a while, but I finally made it, aware of the two sets of eyes in the vicinity watching my progress. The cavern was lit by flickering torches placed sparingly along the walls and a decent fire in the centre. A thin man sat alone by the flames, and an imposing orc with white face paint, horns jutting out of his forehead, and biceps the size of my waist stood by a closed cell door, presumably acting as a makeshift guard. I could see already that there was an hierarchy in this prison, and the thought made my mouth go dry. I knew how these systems worked. An hierarchy meant that, as the newbie, I was the omega of the pack. The lowest of the low. And as injured as I was, I would be perceived as easy prey to the alphas.

"You're not looking too hot," said the man sitting on the floor.

"You look worse than I do, and I'm the one covered in bloody rags," I retorted, refusing to show weakness.

The man smiled. "That is what you get when you are forced to do back breaking labour for hours on end. My name is Uraccen. Come, sit. You look like you can barely stand let alone mine silver."

I hesitated but it was true. My legs were already feeling the consequences of a week and a half of inactivity. I sat down a safe distance away from him, my legs practically sobbing in relief.

"So what are you in for, new blood?"

"Nothing. I'm innocent," I answered stonily.

He laughed at that. "Innocent?" he mocked. "So was I - for the first one. The other murders were all me. My advice? Serve your time with a pickaxe and get out. Don't want to end up getting a shiv in the guts over a bottle of Skooma."

My nose wrinkled at that. I should have expected that Skooma would be prevalent even here. The drug was rampant in the underworld so I had my fair crossings with it, but I had never really developed a taste for it. It was too… catty for my taste.

"What about you?" I asked. "What exactly are you in for?"

"Me? A Nord nobleman I served was stabbed in the night. Wasn't me, but I knew I'd be blamed. So I ran. Joined the Forsworn. Started killing, got caught, ended up here. That's basically the whole story. Left behind my daughter Uaile when I was taken though."

"…You're kidding."

"Why would I kid?"

"Nevermind, it's nothing."

"Do you know Uaile?"

I debated for a moment how much I should tell him, if I should say anything at all.

"You could say that," was the answer I ended up with.

"Is she okay?"

"She was… alive… when I left her," I said as evasively as possible, clutching my side unconsciously. I had to avert my gaze from the earnest look on his face, feeling an unreasonable wave of guilt wash over me. She _had_ tried to kill me, but it never occurred to me that she might have family. Did Nepos have family? What about the other two that I killed?

I groaned, and hid my face in my knees. A thief with a conscience was a very poor thief indeed. Could I even still be considered a thief if I was going to spend who knows how long in this gods forsaken place?

"Are you okay?" Uraccen asked.

"No," I admitted, when a thought occurred to me. I perked up and looked at him again. "Is Madanach here?"

He chuckled. "If you're asking, that means you're the new lifer. Tough luck, friend. Those guards sold you out but good."

I pursed my lips. I already knew that, but it didn't sound any better coming from someone else.

_Ranmir… _A name for the ruthless guard. _I'm gonna kill that guy. _Then_ they'll have a reason to throw me in jail._

"But he's here though, right?" I persisted.

"No one talks to Madanach, I'm afraid. Not without getting past Borkul the Beast anyway." He jerked his head in the direction of the intimidating orc glowering at us from his position. "And trust me, you don't want to talk to Borkul the Beast. I heard he ripped a man's arm off and beat him to death with it. He'd old fashioned like that."

I glanced at the orc, making unfortunate eye contact with the massive creature. He grinned menacingly at me and licked his lips, his tongue running over the sharp fangs jutting out of his bottom jaw as well. I shuddered and looked back at Uraccen.

"There's gotta be a way I can talk to Madanach."

"Sorry, friend," he said, sounding almost sincere. "That's the only way I'm afraid."

It took me a couple more days to build up the courage to approach Borkul the Beast. In the mean time, I familiarized myself with the mine and its other occupiers. The guards came in once during this time to collect the ore and hand out food. I was forced to mine too of course. The work was painful and seemingly endless. I was the only female in the mine aside from the orc guard who was there when I woke up which kept me up at night sometimes on high alert, but despite being abused and having the wounds on my side and hand reopen more than once, I was recovering at an alarmingly fast pace. The mere fact that I had avoided infection in an area such as this with only a few changes in cloth for my wounds was a miracle in itself, but the rate in which I seemed to be recovering my strength was far beyond that of a miracle. Most importantly, though, I felt the fire of my determination beginning to rekindle.

It was the fourth day that I felt strong enough to approach Borkul the Beast without trembling in my nonexistent boots.

"Ah, the new meat," the orc grinned. I was hyper aware of his black eyes examining me up and down as I approached, and I wished for the hundredth time that I had my thieves guild armor back. He was shirtless as always, his muscles bulging, and I could see every strand of black chest hair that spanned his green body. Standing in front of him, I felt like a little girl again. "So soft. So tender…" his low voice continued to rumble. "What was it like killing your first one, huh?"

"I'm not a murderer."

"So I've heard," he said. "But that just makes you a murder and a liar."

"I need to see Madanach," I said, refusing to continue down this line of conversation.

"That's fine. But you gotta pay a toll."

Uraccen had told me this would happen. He said it was different every time, depending on what Borkul the Beast wanted at that moment, so he couldn't help me if I didn't know what price I had to pay first. Uraccen had his price too surely, but I had a feeling his would probably be less steep than the orc's. It was because of this assumption that I was surprised at the simplicity of the Beast's request. He asked for a shiv, an item my sticky fingers had actually already swiped from Grisvar, another prisoner who, though I didn't dislike, I decided I didn't particularly like either, the day before. Borkul, too, seemed surprised that I already had a shiv in my possession.

"Well, since that toll was so easily paid, how about a kiss to go with it?" Borkul simpered, leaning in close. "The only other girl 'round here is that damned guard woman and she's even uglier than you are."

_Ugh, in your dreams._

"Hey, I paid your bloody toll," I said, refusing to budge though I wanted nothing more than to recoil in disgust. "Just open the gate before I take that shiv and shove it through that tree trunk you call a neck."

My remark evoked a thunderous laugh from him - another surprise, but a relieving one.

"Definitely more sparky than you were four days ago." He opened the door. "Go on in. I believe the King in Rags was expecting you anyways..."


	10. Good Talk

The progress of my recovery was truly spectacular.

_I must be blessed_, I thought bitterly, dragging my good hand along the rocky wall of the passage. Behind me, I heard Borkul the Beast shut the door.

_Some god out there loves me, _I continued with morbid humour. _Or at least loves to watch me suffer._

I walked past a couple more cell doors built into the tunnel walls, flexing my injured hand and regretting just a little bit that I had given Borkul the Beast my shiv. Even though it was just a simple piece of scrap metal with one end wrapped in cloth, having any sort of weapon, no matter how crappy it was, made me feel that much safer.

Soon, the tunnel opened into a well-furnished room. There was a chest at the foot of a comfortable looking bed towards the back, and next to it, an old Breton scribbling calmly on a piece of parchment occupied a chair and desk. I slowed as I entered, footsteps instinctively soft, and waited for the King in Rags to acknowledge me.

It didn't take long, and I was glad at least that Madanach wasn't one of those assholes that proved their dominance by making you wait unreasonable amounts of time. He scratched one last sentence with his feather pen, dotted it with a period, and then swiveled in his chair to face me.

He was more impressive in person than I thought he would be. In my mind, he had been an old, frail man; scrawny, malnourished, with thinning hair and a hunched back from sitting over papers all day. The man before me was nothing like that. When he moved, I could see the veins in his arms shift above his strong biceps like miniature snakes. While he was nowhere near as big as his Orsimer guard, his broad shoulders might have put even a Companion to shame. His shoulder length hair was white as snow, with a thick mustache to match and piercing blue-grey eyes that stood out even more prominently against the dark bags under them. He had an aura that reminded me of Mercer Frey, and I was immediately intimidated.

"Well, well," Madanach said in a gravelly voice. "You must be the newest addition to the mines. I would say welcome, but I'm sure you would rather if I didn't."

His astute blue-grey eyes appraised me briefly, assessing every inch of me: my obviously tense stance, the way one of my feet remained pointed towards the exit, my archery-developed arms, the dirt in my tangled hair and under my nails, the way my rags hung more loosely off my body than I remembered, the narrow of my eyes and the unhappy curve of my mouth. My injuries.

His gaze was discerning to say the least.

"You look like a wild animal," he said, giving no indication of approval or otherwise. It was merely a comment. "Beaten and caged up by the Nords, left to go mad."

I scowled, and he laughed. Why did everyone here laugh at me?

"That's a much better look on you," he said. "A creature such as yourself should never wear such fearful expressions."

"I wasn't afraid," I scowled deeper.

"No?" he asked with a tint of an amused smile at the corners of his mouth. It faded with a sigh into an unreadable mask when I made no reply. "So, my fellow beast," he pressed on. "What do you want? Answers about the Forsworn? Revenge for trying to have you killed?"

_I want to sleep. I want my bow. I want to severely injure all the guards in Markarth, and kill one in particular. I want to hear Delvin's funny accent and see Niruin's crooked smile again. I want a drink. I want to know who the man behind all of this is._

"I want my freedom," I said instead.

"Your freedom?" He seemed intrigued. "Yes, but even if you were to escape Cidhna Mine, your name would still be stained with all that blood. Even those you didn't actually kill like that troublesome Eltrys."

My stomach dropped at the mention of Eltrys. I had almost forgotten about him, which made the guilt on my shoulders feel that much heavier.

_Dead. Dead, dead, dead._

"He had a wife, you know," I mumbled softly, eyes downcast.

"Hm? You'll have to speak up, girl."

I took a breath and looked him square in his penetrating eyes. "I said. He had. A pregnant. Wife."

He slowly crossed one leg over the other with infuriating poise. "So?" he asked simply. I couldn't help but feel like he was testing me. Pushing my buttons to see what kind of person I was and how I would react.

"So?" I spluttered, taking the bait as I felt anger begin to bubble in the pit of my stomach. "You have a lot to answer for."

"Do I?" he asked, and this time he was bristling. The volume of his voice rose ever so slightly, just enough so that I nervous shiver ran up my spine. "And what about you? What right did you have to meddle in my affairs? What right did you have to kill my people – Nepos, Tynan, Morven?"

I raised my chin, and I could see Madanach evaluating me, waiting patiently for a response.

The King in Rags, leader of the Forsworn, master manipulator and strategist. He had to be to do what he did. I knew there would be no way for me pull the wool over his eyes, and I felt no desire to anyways. So I answered truthfully.

"I had every right," I said.

"But was it worth it?" he pushed, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. "Was your truth worth all the blood shed? All the suffering you and others are feeling now?"

I held his gaze for as long as I could, flexing and unflexing my injured hand. I wanted to say yes. Yes, it was worth it. But was it really? If I was being really honest with myself…

I had to look away. That was all the answer he needed.

"I didn't think so," he sniffed disdainfully, turning back to face his desk and picking up the pen. "You're one of us now, you see?" he said, dipping the feather in ink and beginning to write again, this time on a new piece of parchment. "You're a slave. The boot of the Nord is stepping on your throat. Maybe if you understood that, I could help you."

"I don't need or want your help," I said in a low voice.

"You are not the first to say that, nor will you be the last. There is a man named Braig inside these mines. Besides me, he's been here the longest. Speak with him. Tell him I sent you. I want you to know just how widespread the injustice of Markarth is."

And with that, he went back to his scribbling, and I knew I was dismissed with an unspoken _don't come back until then_. I couldn't tell if my irritation was rational or irrational, but my jaw was clenched and my nails dug into my palms nonetheless as I turned stiffly on my heel, leaving the King in Rags behind me.

"Good talk?" Borkul grinned as he re-opened the cell door for me.

"Shove it," I snapped, and his grin only got wider.

At least someone was having a good time.


	11. A Way Out

It took what felt like half an hour of restless pacing until I felt the tension in my body begin to release, and it was another little while of internal debate until I could force myself to search around for Braig. It didn't take long for me to find him in one of the many off shoot tunnels of the mine.

I had met Braig only briefly during my stay here, stumbling along him while I was doing a little exploration of the mines. He had been curt and uninviting, so I had left him to his devices and not seen him again until now.

The old Breton started as I followed the curve of the tunnel, his perpetual glower deepening as he realized my approach had caught him off guard. He sat on the floor, hand on the pickaxe beside him.

"What do you want?" he grunted. "I have digging to do."

"Yes, I can see how productive you're being," I said, sitting myself down in front of him. He looked annoyed as I made myself comfortable, and I made it a point to take my sweet time before finally explaining my presence. "Madanach told me to hear your story."

Braig stared at me, expression unchanging, but clearly unhappy. For a second I thought he was going to turn me away when he took his hand off the pickaxe's handle and began to speak.

"My story, huh?" he said. "Everyone in Cidhna Mine as a tale. I'm more interested in yours."

I shifted uncomfortably, and he saw the change in my expression.

"Not such a nice question when it's turned around, is it?" he asked. "Well, nothing is free in the world, and that rule applies even more now that you're down here. If you want to hear my story, you're going to have to exchange yours for it."

I bit my lip hesitantly. I guess I was silent for a bit too long because Braig decided to prompt a monologue from me.

"When was the first time you felt chains around your wrists?" he coaxed, and I sighed. As much as I would like to bypass discussing my past, it seemed unavoidable. Besides, I'm sure since Madanach directed me to Braig, his past wasn't that pretty either.

"Young," I conceded, seeing no point in lying now. "My sticky fingers have always gotten me into trouble."

"Then you know the hard looks as judgment sets upon you. The sneers of people who never had to face sentence."

I sighed again, remembering those looks indeed and the feeling of shame that accompanied them. But I also remembered the feeling of joining the Guild, and the way people's sneers melted into downcast eyes and quickened footsteps.

And I remembered how the fear was beginning to revert back into disdain. The Guild was in trouble and here I was, locked up for crimes I actually didn't commit for once. The helplessness was the worst part of it.

"Not fond memories, I know," Braig said with what almost sounded like sympathy. "But the hard stories are the ones worth hearing. What about family? Any fond memories there? Anyone waiting for you on the outside?"

"This is starting to feel a bit like an interrogation," I muttered.

"You're being exasperatingly concise so I'm just helping things along."

"Yeah, yeah. I just don't make it a habit of telling people my life story."

"So… family?"

"No blood relations in Skyrim," I said. "But… yes, family," I added after a little thought. "They're the only family I need and… I hope they're still waiting for me outside."

"You do not seem the kind to be caught up in these machinations."

"Yeah, well, I suppose you can blame my current situation on the mead."

"Oh?"

"Nope. I'm not discussing my drinking problems."

"Fine, I won't pry. This would be a lot easier if you would just talk," he said somberly. "Okay. Mead got you into this situation, but what about your past situation?"

"My past situation? What do you mean?" I asked guardedly.

"You're a nice girl," he said. "You got a spring in your step even down here, and a face as readable as a picture book, although you probably believe otherwise. You have an aura of… innocence, you could say. The life of a thief doesn't suit you."

"I'm not as young as I look to you," I warned. "We Mer are known to live a fair bit longer than your kind, and the life of a thief suits me just fine, thank you very much."

"I know," he said, picking at the dirt under his nails in thought for a moment. He could sense he had insulted me a little bit and decided to lead our conversation on a detour. "Do you have any idea why Madanach sent you to me?"

_Because he's a cowardly milk drinker, _a little voice in my head wanted to say.

"Because he… thinks I might gain some insight towards the Forsworn cause?"

"Well, yes, but do you know why he sent you to me specifically?"

I shrugged, shaking my head. For the moment, I was just glad we weren't talking about my life.

"It's because Madanach is good at reading people," he said. "Every Forsworn member in this mine has some sort of sob story, myself included. He thinks, though, that you will benefit most from hearing mine."

"And why would he think that?"

It was his turn to shrug. "I had a daughter once," he said, and I had to stop myself from groaning. In our brief conversation could Madanach really have known how much of a sucker I am for these kind of people? I mean, all he really had to go off of was Eltrys, but that implied not only a deep knowledge of Eltrys's personal life, but knowledge that Eltrys had used that information and I had fallen for it. I didn't know what disturbed me more.

_Am I really that easy to read?_

"She would be 23 this year," Braig continued. "Maybe she'd be married to some hot-headed silver worker or maybe she'd be on her own learning the herb trade."

He trailed off in a memory and I shifted, removing a sharp rock from under my thigh.

"I'll spare you the sappy details," Braig said. "Madanach may have you pegged in whatever way - and mind you, he's probably right about it - but I will not have my past used by him in such a manner. I hate the Nords as much as anyone, but I will not let him blatantly use me to drag you down a path you clearly don't belong."

I nodded, and watched as he clenched his fists, eyes staring straight past me as he remembered events long past that had been seared permanently into his brain. When he spoke, he tried to maintain a monotone as if that would distance him from the events playing in his mind for probably the millionth time, but his voice quivered ever so slightly with barely concealed rage.

"The Nords didn't care who was and who wasn't involved in the Forsworn Uprising. I had spoken to Madanach once, and that was enough. But little Aethra didn't want to see her papa leave her. She pleaded with the Jarl to take her instead.

"And so, of course, they did. And after they made me watch as her head rolled off the block, they threw me in here anyways, to dig up their silver."

Despite his efforts, his voice broke and his volume rose with his increasing rage. Empathy overwhelmed me, but I had to ask something.

"A man in Markarth, Eltrys, was killed when I was arrested," I said.

"I know of him."

"All he wanted was to get to the bottom of his father's death," I said. "He had a pregnant wife. Does what happened really justify the murders of good people that the Forsworn have committed?"

"I'm_ not_ Madanach," Braig snapped, and I flinched at the sharpness of his tone. "I was _never_ a Forsworn leader. The only thing I can justify if my own anger." He seemed to realize he had lost some of his composure and took a few moments to calm himself.

"I'm sorry," I said, a bitter taste in my mouth.

"For what? You were not the one who killed my Aethra."

"It just seemed like the right thing to say."

"My daughter is the one who needs your pity. I'm just a poor Forsworn whose only regret is not killing more Nords before I was locked up. Save your apologies for something you've actually done," he said. "What you have to understand is that my story is not special. Every family in the Reach has a story like mine. There are no innocent onlookers in this struggle. Just the guilty and the dead."

I had nothing to say. More and more I was finding myself with the unfamiliar feeling of speechlessness.

"You should return to Madanach," Braig said after a while. "I am familiar with this routine of his, and he will want to see you again."

"Why do you follow him?" I blurted out.

He took a moment to think.

"I know I have not sounded very fond of him in our discussion, but my respect for Madanach runs deeper than any lake in Skyrim, and higher than any mountain. The years have turned him more ruthless, but he is a good man, sick and tired of seeing his people suffer. I realize it's easier said than done, but please don't hold anything that has happened against him. He means only the best."

"Easier said than done, indeed," I replied, as I stood up, brushing some of the dirt off my legs. "But I'll try."

"Be safe."

"No guarantees," I said with a half smile.

I turned my back on yet another good man, my mood souring at the prospect of having to face the King in Rags again. Despite my promise to Braig, I was going to give that wretched Breton a piece of my mind, and I guess it showed on my face because Borkul hesitated just the slightest moment before opening the cell door for me again.

Madanach turned to me as I stormed in, mouth open to greet me, but I cut him off.

"No, shut up" I said, pointing a finger as threateningly as possible, which, admittedly, wasn't very threatening. I ignored the flare of pain from my burn. "Who do you think I am?"

"…Do you want me to shut up or answer that?"

"I want you to shut up with your bullshit psychoanalyzing mind-games and answer that."

His blue-grey eyes narrowed, his lips pressing together in a scornful line, unaccustomed to being addressed in such a manner. He didn't answer me, so I continued talking.

"Do you take me seriously?" I asked with an icy tone. "Borkul the Beast definitely doesn't take me seriously. He laughs in my face. The other prisoners don't take me very seriously either. So far, Braig is the only one to show me any respect."

He still remained silent. The only look on his face was that of intrigue, and that only pissed me off even more.

"Is it because I'm an elf?" I asked, using arm gestures now. "Is it because I'm young? Is it because I'm a woman? Do I look weak to you?"

I stared at him, and he stared back, calm as ever. I hated that every second seemed to be a mental battle with him, and one that I would never win. I hated how he remained so damn composed while I was losing my shit the moment I seemed to regain it. I was a single, unaccounted for piece on the playing field that belonged to neither side, and Madanach was trying to reel me in. The Forsworn needed every bit of help they could get.

It dawned on me quite suddenly, and I took a sharp inhale, wondering how I hadn't seen it before.

"You have an escape plan," I said matter of factly.

A sly grin spread across his thin lips.

"I do," he confirmed. "And if you can prove your loyalty to me, I'm willing to let you in on it…"


End file.
